


True North

by Geeklovefan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: All of the Tropes, Apprenticeship, F/M, First Time, Good Severus Snape, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Severus Snape Lives, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 04:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16010057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geeklovefan/pseuds/Geeklovefan
Summary: Hermione saves Snape. Hermione requests apprenticeship as opposed to 8th year. Hermione and Snape seduce each other. It's your basic Trope-fest...Just hopefully more well-written. ;)





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So…this is my first attempt at writing Snamione/Snanger/Whatever Portmanteau You Prefer. I’ve been reading this ‘ship voraciously for a couple of months now, which makes me a complete hypocrite, because I wholeheartedly admit to being one of those people who was all like, “Snape and Hermione?! What the WHAT?!” beforehand. Go figure. Things change. At any rate, please be kind in whatever you have to say, as this is a new ‘ship for me. I am not at all opposed to criticism, so long as it has a purpose. I just ask for basic politeness (it’s the Southerner in me, I swear).**

**Additional A/N: I am American, though, as a science teacher, I am well-versed in the units of measurement used in other countries. For those who are not, you may wish to know, for conversion purposes, that the English often measure weight in terms of “stone.” One stone is equivalent to 14 pounds, or 6.3 kg. Thus, a person who is 10 stone weighs 140 pounds or 63 kg.**

**_ True North _ **

****

** Monday, August 3, 1998 **

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall ran a weary hand over her face and shot a glance at Kingsley Shacklebolt. His expression was impassive. One expected nothing less of an auror, she thought.

The last of her faculty members, Severus Snape, shuffled slowly into the staff room. He was still weak from the catastrophic injuries sustained in that last, horrific battle, but with a month yet to go before the start of term, she expected that he would have time to recover fully. She was far more concerned with his potential reaction to what was coming.

She took a breath, cleared her throat, and pushed her worries to the side as she stood to address the room. Having thought long and hard about how to open this meeting and coming up blank, she just dove in, her thickening Scottish brogue betraying her emotions. “Thank ye for being here today. There’s nothing can be said to open this meeting gently, so we’ll just get right to it. We need to discuss arrangements for the coming school year. Ye’ll notice that off to the side are a number of our wee bairns that should have taken their NEWTS in June. As we all know, they did not. I have been in intense meetings with the Ministry to determine exactly how to handle this. Not to mention, we need to consider the fifth years who didn’t get to take their OWLs, and…” she trailed off, rubbing a hand over her face once more. “Frankly, lads and lasses…none of our students received the education they were entitled to last year, and so all needs taking into consideration.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “As I said, I’ve spoken with the Ministry at length, and we’ve come up with a number of solutions. Our students have been through so much. Many are well and truly traumatized. There isn’t to be a single solution that will suit all. Given that, we feel that each student should be offered a number of choices—each of which is designed to meet our strict educational requirements without causing undue trauma. In addition, the Ministry has chosen to add in a few scenarios that are a bit more…unconventional.  Here are the options we are making available. Minister Shacklebolt?” Minerva moved to the side, ceding the floor to Kingsley.

“Thank you, Headmistress.” He faced the faculty and erstwhile seventh years in the room. “Obviously, this is a most unusual situation. It is unfair to punish these students for a situation that was thoroughly out of their control. However, it would be reckless to simply turn loose an entire class of witches and wizards who haven’t received their full education. What to do, then?” He paused, as if contemplating. “Here are the scenarios we have, over many weeks of discussion, agreed upon as acceptable.

“First: At one point or another, all three of the so-called ‘Golden Trio’ have expressed an interest in entering the Auror program after their matriculation. As such, the Ministry has approved a special dispensation in which Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley will be offered immediate acceptance into the Auror training program under the following conditions: they must immediately sit and pass their NEWTs in Defence with scores of either Exceeds Expectations or Outstanding. If they do not achieve those scores, they will be disqualified. In addition, they must sit their choice of three other NEWTs. Any scores below Acceptable will disqualify them from the program. Scores of Acceptable will require extra training—remediation, if you will—in that subject until the training instructors are satisfied that the candidate is as well-equipped as any other. This is being allowed not only because these three have proven themselves competent warriors time and again, but also because the Auror Corps has been decimated by this war. Please do not view this as a situation of special treatment; there is a genuine need here, with dozens of Death Eaters still on the run, and we see no reason why these students cannot help fulfill it, provided they are able to prove themselves. Even as trainees, their presence will be valuable.” Shacklebolt paused for a moment, seemingly taking the temperature of the room. He was surprised to see that no one looked particularly perturbed. “Now. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley have accepted our offer and will sit their NEWTs next week. Miss Granger has agreed to tutor them in their revision, although she herself has declined our offer.” Severus Snape snorted quietly at this. Of course she had.

McGonagall’s head snapped up. “Do you have a comment, Professor Snape?” she asked, her voice hard as steel. Severus had made remarkable strides over the past two months in healing both physically and emotionally, and had, to her great surprise, opened up to her quite a bit about his years-long nightmare courtesy of Albus. But there was no doubt he was still Severus Snape.

Severus smirked. “Of course not, Headmistress, Minister,” he crooned, his voice silky smooth.

Kingsley, well-accustomed to his fellow Order member’s mercurial personality, fought the urge to roll his eyes and continued. “In light of our offer, Mr. Potter suggested that we might extend the same opportunity to several other seventh year students he knew to be interested in the Auror program. Therefore, we have spoken to Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Finnegan, Mr. Thomas, Ms. Abbot, and Ms. Bones, making each of them the same offer of qualified entry to the Auror program. All have accepted the offer, minus Mr. Longbottom and Ms. Abbot. Are there any questions so far?” Kingsley looked around the room and found none. “Very good. Moving on. The fifth years are being offered the opportunity to sit their OWLs as planned or to repeat their year. Additionally, given the circumstances of this past year, should they choose to sit their OWLs and fail, they will be given the opportunity to repeat their fifth year and sit the exams once more in a year’s time. For all remaining students, we are asking each professor—and we are truly sorry to add to your workload, ladies and gentlemen—to prepare an examination appropriate to each grade level, with the exception of fifth and seventh years, of course, in order to determine whether or not they are proficient enough to move on. In addition, and we realize that this is a bit irregular and confusing, we are proposing that students be allowed to move on as appropriate—in other words, if a second year student should prove proficient in every subject but transfiguration and potions, for example, we would recommend that the student be allowed to repeat the second year’s curriculum for those two classes while moving on to the third year in the others.” This garnered a bit more of a reaction from the faculty, but they were determined to hear the Minister out. None of this was his fault, after all, and there wasn’t going to be a perfect solution, from any point of view. Allowances would have to be made.

“Headmistress?” Shacklebolt nodded toward McGonagall, who stepped forward once more.

“We will meet again in one week’s time to iron out some of the finer details, but we felt it only fair to bring you into the loop as soon as possible on the solutions we have come up with for our student body. Are there questions at this point?”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Headmistress?” he ventured.

Minerva’s eyes bored into his and the tiniest bit of dread stole through him; why that was, he did not understand.

“Yes, Professor Snape?”

“The plan you have laid out seems…adequate. However, you have mentioned three seventh year students who have declined to join the Auror program as offered; you did not specify what those three students planned to do to complete their education instead.”

There was silence and Snape had a gut feeling that he’d hit on something sensitive. He was at a loss to suss it out, but it was there.

“Ahh, yes. Excellent observation, Professor.” She took a steadying breath. “As all of you know, no one at Hogwarts has taken on a true apprentice in…well, let’s just say it has been quite a long time since Hogwarts has seen a student or graduate apprenticed to one of its professors. Despite this, apprenticeships are still a highly-valued tradition in the wizarding world. As it turns out, and after much discussion, Mr. Longbottom has requested an apprenticeship with Professor Sprout in Herbology. He has also requested to sit additional NEWTs in both Defence and Transfiguration. Professor Sprout has agreed to take Mr. Longbottom on provided that he passes the Herbology NEWT. I’m sure we are all agreed that there is little doubt he will do so, and as our greenhouses were completely devastated, his assistance will be invaluable in restoring them, both for instruction, as well as food. In that same vein, Ms. Abbott has requested a Healer’s apprenticeship with Madam Pomfrey, and will be sitting her NEWTs in Herbology, Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, and Defence. Ms. Abbott will be waiting several weeks to sit her NEWTs so that she may have more time for revision, given that she is sitting five exams. In addition, both of these students have agreed to serve, as needed or requested, in the role of teacher’s assistant for the lower years for any professor who feels they are qualified to assist. Should you take advantage of this opportunity, it will give these students the chance to hone their skills, get practical experience teaching, should that be an avenue they wish to eventually pursue, and of course, it will lighten your workload.

“Again, as I said, we will meet once more in a week’s time to iron out all of the details. For now, I thank you for your time and you are dismissed.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. McGonagall had elaborated on the plans for Longbottom and Abbott, but not Miss Granger. As his colleagues filed out of the room, he opened his mouth to speak, but the headmistress beat him to it. “A word, if you please, Severus.”

OoOoO

Professor Snape, obeying the finger the Headmistress crooked at him, proceeded to follow her from the staff room toward the tower office that he had most gladly relinquished to her after Riddle’s defeat and his subsequent convalescence. He silently noted Miss Granger’s presence as she fell into step next to him. He was beginning to have a fairly decent idea of where this was heading and realized that he had…absolutely no idea how he felt about it.

The gargoyle spun open wordlessly at Minerva’s approach and Severus stepped back to allow first Minerva, then Miss Granger, entry to the spiral staircase. “Thank you, Sir,” came the gentle murmur from Hermione’s lips.

Snape took the opportunity to observe her from behind as they ascended, the practiced eye of a spy taking in every minute detail. He noted what seemed to be the last remnants of a limp, the presence of a long sleeved shirt despite the Scottish August heat, calloused hands with more than a few scars, prominent cheekbones, purple shadows beneath her eyes that told him she wasn’t sleeping, and hair that was brittle, dull, and clearly neglected, pulled back into a low knot at the base of her skull. His eyes narrowed. There was so much more than that to it, though. She was markedly different, but it was surprisingly difficult to qualify exactly _how_. It was down to her very spirit—the way she carried herself. In one way, she seemed smaller; pulled into herself; almost beaten down. She was exceptionally thin—although, he allowed, not as much as she had been on that night two months ago when she’d saved his life. After it was all over, when he looked back on _that_ particular night and recalled her near skeletal frame, he would ask himself how she even had the strength to stand, much less duel nearly nonstop and find the magical energy to start managing his wounds until she could get him to safety and help.

He would find out later—much later—that when it was all over, when McGonagall had assured her that Voldemort was dead, Harry was alive, and Severus was being stabilized—she had collapsed into Minerva’s arms and proceeded to lie in a coma for the next four days. And when he pinched the bridge of his nose and asked with trepidation exactly how much she had weighed when admitted to St. Mungo’s, Minerva would tell him, her face solemn and drawn, that her weight on the night of the battle was just under 6 stone.

But for now, he simply observed with no small interest that the girl he had sneered at and ridiculed in class for her eager and swotty ways—despite his deep-down respect for her sheer intellect—had been through the crucible and had emerged on the other side a tough, fiery, independent young woman. There was a hardness to her now—a steel edge that glimmered just on the periphery of her logical, calm façade; it said, “ _I will be courteous and respectful so long as you are; however, make no mistake: I will not tolerate your bullshit and I will not back down.”_ Somewhere along the way, meek and mild, eager-to-please Hermione Granger had died, and like the phoenix, a battle-hardened, take-no-prisoners version had risen from the ashes to take her place. The cub had blossomed into the fierce Lioness at last.

And when Severus Snape realized that somewhere in the very, very back of his mind, he was aroused by that epiphany, he came to a dead stop.

_No._

OoOoO

 

Severus and Hermione each occupied a chair across from the Headmistress’ desk, and were waiting expectantly for her to speak. They watched in silence as McGonagall wordlessly prepared tea and served it to them without having to ask how they preferred it. She sat for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, took a deep breath, and spoke.

“Severus,” she began, “I’ll just get right to it, as I know that’s how you would prefer it. Hermione has requested an apprenticeship in Potions, and has clearly stated that she will not take one from any Potions Master but you.”

There was silence. If she had expected him to blow up in his normal Snape-ish manner, she was certainly disappointed. Snape glanced at Hermione out of the corner of his eyes. She stared straight ahead, stoic, her jaw set in an almost defiant manner. She simply waited for his answer. With his elbows on the arms of his chair, he steepled his fingers beneath his chin and spoke slowly. “But I do not take on apprentices, Headmistress. Surely you must know this.”

“Severus, she saved your damn life!” Minerva snapped.

“Headmistress!” Hermione barked, and Snape was shocked to hear the hint of admonishment in her outburst. “We discussed this.”

Minerva glared at Severus. “Yes, Miss Granger, I am aware. Forgive me.” She took a deep breath and addressed Severus. “Hermione was insistent that I not mention that little _tidbit_ ,” she said sarcastically.

Hermione spoke up then, turning toward him. With earnestness in her eyes, she spoke with quiet determination, never breaking eye contact. “Professor,” she said gently, “I would very much appreciate it if you would consider my request; however, at no point do I wish you to allow my actions in the Shrieking Shack to factor into your decision. I am happy I did what I did, and I would do it again. There is no debt; you owe me nothing. You have spent enough of your life beholden to others,” she finished, a shadow of darkness coloring her features.

He would never have admitted it, and he certainly did not allow it to show, but Snape was stunned. Somehow, despite her youth, she understood. She got it. He was tired of being a slave. What’s more, she seemed to share his very mixed feelings about the late Headmaster.

He was further stunned to realize that he was actually considering her request.

He looked at her appraisingly, his eyes narrowed.

“All right,” he intoned. “I will consider your request.” Hermione broke into a grin and murmured her thanks. “However, I do have some…concerns…about your…fitness.” He paused at the confused look she gave him. “Miss Granger,” he drawled, “I say this in the kindest way possible, please understand. But… you look like shit.”

“Severus!” Minerva hissed, before looking over in shock as Hermione let out a great belly laugh.

“Professor,” she chuckled, holding up a hand to indicate she took no offense. “I have in fact looked in a mirror lately, and believe me, I’m well aware that the past year has not been kind to me.” She gave him a genuine, almost indulgent, smile, and added cheekily, “However, I’m sure you are observant enough to see the difference in my appearance now versus three months ago…? I can assure you that after a year of constantly being on the brink of starvation, I am working _very_ hard to regain the weight I’ve lost, and in fact, I expect very soon to be as big as a house,” she laughed.

Snape gave her a small smile, surprising her. His eyes narrowed in contemplation, and he looked at the headmistress. “Minerva, would you be so kind as to give me a few moments alone with Ms. Granger?”

The headmistress, sensing victory, acquiesced easily. “Of course, Severus. I’ll just go and check on the workers.”

OoOoO

Snape and Hermione were now alone in the headmistress’ office, and Snape remained in the chair he was occupying. He steepled his fingers and gazed at her appraisingly once again.

“Tell me, Miss Granger, why did you insist to the Headmistress that you would apprentice only under me?” He swallowed and ignored the inadvertent double entendre. “There are a handful of other Potions Masters across Europe, all of them much more pleasant than I,” he said dryly. “Why would you request, or rather, _insist_ , on studying with the one person who has made your life miserable for seven years?” His voice had its usual air of feigned indifference, but the truth was, he was actually curious.

She paused, gathering her thoughts. “Multiple reasons, Sir. I’m a big girl now—I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t take it. And you just might find I can give as good as I get,” she smirked. “But more importantly, you are the best. I would rather study with the best and take the barbs than learn from an inferior teacher who coddles me.”

“Wise and mature,” he murmured without meaning to. His face colored slightly, but she continued as if she had not heard him.

“But even though I’m confident in my ability to handle your…foul temperament,” she smirked, “to be honest…” she paused for a moment. “May I speak freely, Professor?” Snape nodded silently. Hermione hesitated, then plunged ahead. “To be honest, Sir, I’m not that worried about you making me miserable, because I don’t think that man was real.” She halted, waiting for the inevitable explosion, but Snape only raised his eyebrows. Emboldened, she continued. “Knowing what I know now, I have looked back over the past several years and attempted to place myself in your shoes, in the role you had to play, and as I considered it, I could come to no other conclusion but that you played the hand you were dealt, to the best of your ability. Of _course_ you couldn’t give an inch of slack to Gryffindor, and indeed, you _had_ to appear openly hostile to us. Anything else would have run the very real risk of blowing your cover.” She swallowed, wondering if she’d gone too far. “No, sir, I think you did what you had to do in the name of maintaining what must have been an exhausting double life.” She sounded pained now, and Snape was shocked to realize that her sorrow on his behalf grieved him. Before he could formulate a response, she quietly added, almost as if talking to herself, “…and besides, even if you _meant_ it, I should think it would be a transgression worthy of forgiveness, considering the pressure you were under.”

“Very good, Miss Granger,” he spoke softly, surprising even himself. “Your assessment is, as I have come to expect, both shrewd and accurate. I applaud your mettle and resilience. I do, however, hope that this war and your experiences in it have not dulled your empathy and compassion.” Hermione stared, gobsmacked. Snape seemed to look into the distance. “Such rare traits these days.” He snapped back to himself, clearing his throat. “If I accept you as my apprentice, I will have a few conditions.”

Hermione nodded at him to continue.

“We will start out with intensive revision so that you may pass your NEWTs. I will require you to receive an O in the Potions, Herbology, Arithmancy, and Defence NEWTs to begin your apprenticeship. If you should score an Exceeds Expectations—because I think we both know that is the lowest score that you would ever possibly receive,” he added with a wry smirk, much to her pleasure, “then I will require you to continue revising with me until you are ready to sit your NEWTs once more—and that will be your final chance. Let me be clear—I do not expect this to be an issue that we will actually encounter, but I feel the need to make my expectations plain.” Hermione nodded her agreement.

“When would I sit for my NEWTs, Sir?” she interjected politely.

“That depends on you, Miss Granger. Were you already planning on taking all of the NEWTs I just listed?” Hermione nodded. “Were you planning on taking any additional NEWTs?”

“Yes, sir. Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, and Charms.”

Snape allowed a low whistle. “Seven NEWTs is quite ambitious, Miss Granger. However, if anyone can do it, it will be you.” He gave a smirk at her pleased look and decided to tease her. “I have to admit, though, I’m a tad disappointed in you, Miss Granger.” He nearly laughed at the shocked look on her face. “I find it hard to believe that you would neglect to sit for a NEWT in Divination.” He smirked once more and Hermione let out a laugh of relief and genuine mirth, knowing that Snape viewed Divination with much the same attitude of skepticism as did she.

“All right, Miss Granger,” he continued, a small smile upon his face, “I anticipate that you will be best prepared to sit your NEWT exams by December.”

Hermione nodded. “And your additional conditions?” she queried.

Snape nodded. “During this first semester, I will require only that you devote yourself to revision for the NEWT exams, along with assisting me in cleaning the lab or marking papers. I suggest that on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, I tutor you for your Potions NEWT during my free period, and in return, you will assist me by marking the first, second, and third years’ papers during my free period on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Assuming that you pass all of your NEWTs successfully, which of course I anticipate you doing, then after Christmas, you will take over the instruction of the first, second, and third year Potions pupils. I will oversee your instruction for at least the first month, although of course you will be welcome to seek my guidance at any time, should you need it.”

Hermione nodded. His conditions were eminently reasonable. “What else, sir?” she inquired.

“I will ask that you keep office hours—you may use the Potions classroom to do so—for two hours, two evenings a week, so that the younger students may seek your assistance outside of class. I will not require that you take on patrol duties on a regular basis, but I reserve the right to ask you to do so if needed.” Hermione nodded. “When teaching class, you will wear teaching robes, but when we are working together for your apprenticeship, you may wear what you choose, so long as you adhere to lab safety standards. Acceptable?”

Hermione nodded and looked down, her face flaming in embarrassment. She had no idea how to bring up the only remaining question she had. How on earth would she—

“Miss Granger? Something on your mind?” His voice was unexpectedly gentle, and she jerked her head up in surprise.

“Umm,” she whispered uncertainly. “There’s just—“She stopped and swallowed hard, steeling herself, before looking back up into his face resolutely. “Are you aware of what happened with my parents?”

Snape paused and looked at her carefully. She looked so fragile, so vulnerable. “I…have heard murmurs here and there, but I do not know the whole story, I admit,” he answered.

“I…” She looked back down to her hands for a moment, seemingly fascinated with picking at a bit of cuticle. “I knew they would be targets.” She looked up again, and Snape was shocked to see her eyes brimming with tears. “…I mean, obviously, right?” She huffed out a mirthless laugh that seemed to be just on this side of hysteria. “The parents of the Mudblood best friend of Harry Potter.” At this, Snape winced visibly, but Hermione didn’t seem to notice. “Why would they _not_ be targets?” She drew a deep breath, trying to calm herself. A note of compassion crept into her voice. “And of course, they just don’t understand anything about our world. They’ve been wonderful from the start, trying their very best to understand and absorb all of the intricacies of our existence…” She huffed that humorless laugh again and said under her breath, “and I thought _I_ had it hard.”

At this, Snape paused. He knew, of course, that she was Muggle-born, and he had always assumed he understood what that was like, having had a Muggle…sperm donor (because a man like that could never be called a father, he told himself). But the truth of it was, he had always known of his magic, and his mother’s, regardless of how much his _dear father_ detested it. But Hermione was different. Unlike Harry, who at least had magical heritage, however much it had been hidden from him, Hermione truly hailed from a completely Muggle existence. Harry had been flying on a toy broomstick by his first birthday; Hermione had simply thought she was a freak until she was nearly twelve years old. This bore further consideration on his part, he realized. He tuned back in as he realized Hermione was speaking once more.

“At any rate, there was no possible way I could explain to them the danger they were in—not in a way that would make them take it seriously.” At this point, Snape’s curiosity and fear were getting the best of him. What had she done? He decided to interrupt her and give voice to the thought.

“Miss Granger…what did you do?”

She looked up at him then, and her face crumpled.

“I obliviated them.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione moves into her quarters at Hogwarts and Snape throws her for a loop with his empathetic response to her inner turmoil.

A/N: I apologize for the lengthy delay in this second chapter. It had been my fervent wish to have this posted by this past Thursday (10/4), prior to our flying out on Friday for the Chicago Marathon, which my husband ran on Sunday. Alas, that did not happen. I took my laptop with me in the hopes that I could wrap this up and get it posted over the weekend, but if my estimations are correct, I was able to spend approximately 10-15 minutes over the course of four days working on it, so that didn’t happen either. We arrived back home late Monday evening and then my older son celebrated his 13th birthday yesterday, so all in all…I’m swamped and knackered, to put it mildly. At any rate, it is my hope that updates will NOT be so far and few between in the future.

“You obliviated your mother and father?”

Snape was dumbfounded. Not only was the magic she had used incredibly advanced, its effects were complex and wide-ranging—and at times, unpredictable. He was equal parts impressed with her skill and concerned with the implications of her actions.

Hermione looked at her feet, seemingly abashedly. “I did. I didn’t know what else to do. I obliviated them and sent them to Australia.” She took a deep breath as a traitorous tear welled up in the corner of one eye and slowly trickled down her face.

Severus Snape had the oddest urge to fold her into his arms.

He sucked in a breath, trying to bring himself back to his senses, and Hermione mistook that as a response to her actions, rather than her emotions.

“I know,” she choked out, barely stifling a sob. “It was a stupid thing to do.” She shook her head, more tears falling unbidden. “But they would have never left otherwise!” Her voice was rising, seemingly on the edge of hysteria.

Severus shushed her gently, despite himself.

Hermione sucked in a calming breath and continued to address her original point. “What I am trying to say is, I’m wondering about the financial aspect of the apprenticeship.” She looked ashamed to bring it up. “Before we knew I was a witch, my parents had, of course, set up an account for me for Muggle university. But after what I did to them…well, between keeping up the payments on their house and flying back and forth to Australia over the past three months in an attempt to restore their memories—I’ve had no luck with that, by the way,” she whispered, her devastation clear in her voice, “I have largely depleted that account, and I’m not sure what I will need to make it through the apprenticeship.” She continued, with a whisper, “There is also a wedding account, but I have not yet touched it, because I know it would devastate my father.” She glanced up at him, embarrassed. “I know that must sound exceedingly ridiculous, but he always talked about giving me away, and I’m the only child, and I just haven’t been able to bear to touch it just yet. It is there, however, should I need it,” she said softly, her voice defeated. She swallowed and rushed ahead, clearly chagrined. “I’m so sorry, Sir, to bring up something so very…base…” she mumbled, humiliated, “but I just want to have an idea of what my expenses will be through the course of apprenticeship so that I may try to plan accordingly and stretch my remaining funds as far as possible.” Her face flamed and her gaze dropped even further, if possible.

Severus Snape found himself rushing to reassure the young witch in spite of himself. “Miss Granger,” he intoned, “the school will cover your room and board, naturally, as well as any and all supplies you shall require for the apprenticeship itself. This should take care of the majority of your expenses. I shall, however, personally provide you with a stipend that will be provisional over these first few months, on the assumption that you will, of course, pass your NEWTs with the required scores. This will also serve as compensation for your time assisting me with lab maintenance and marking papers. After that time, that stipend will be your fair compensation for taking on the teaching responsibilities of the lower years as previously discussed.”

Hermione’s head snapped up at that. “Oh! Sir! No, I could not possibly allow you to—“

Snape interrupted her before she could get any further. “Miss Granger!” he said, more sharply than intended. “I would not make such an offer should I not be in a position to do so. As it so happens, I am in such a position, and that is all there is to it.” He continued, a wry little smile playing about his lips, “Surely you have noticed the absence of a spouse and offspring hanging about my person, hmm?” He smirked at her. “What on earth else do you think I have done with my wages and potion patents over these past twenty years, Miss Granger?”

Hermione stared. “Potion patents?”

Snape smirked at her, not unkindly. “Yes, Miss Granger. Potion patents. Somehow, amidst the exhausting duties of slaving away for not one, but two masters,” he said cheekily, “I managed to research my way into a few lucrative potions discoveries. The, how shall we say, payoff, has not been insignificant. In the meantime, any free time I had remaining was generally taken up by the two aforementioned masters. So, barring the existence of a spouse and offspring, much less free time for hobbies, what do you I think I did with said payoff?”

Hermione had no answer save her eyebrows, currently raised in surprise.

“Precisely, Miss Granger. Nothing. Being at the beck and call of two masters, each entirely at odds with the other, did not, as you can well imagine, leave much time for hobbies or romance.” He gifted her with a sardonic smile. “Therefore, it is no hardship for me to provide you with a small stipend.” He paused and his smirk transformed into a genuine grin. “In fact, I’d say you are well worth the money, if you keep me from deigning to teach first, second, and third years, Miss Granger.”

At this, Hermione could no longer contain her laughter. She let out a belly laugh that sent a most peculiar sensation right into Severus Snape’s gut…

He cleared his throat quickly, hoping to rid himself of the strange feeling. “Very well. I shall take you on as my apprentice, Miss Granger, if it means so much to you. You will report back here in one week’s time to prepare for the upcoming school year. You are in no condition to assist with the rebuilding of the castle, so you will help me in readying the potions lab for the coming year. Is this acceptable?”

Hermione nodded eagerly.

“Then let it be so. I will inform the Headmistress.”

“Thank you, sir, most sincerely.” Hermione gave him a completely genuine smile and stood to leave, holding out her hand. Severus shook it gingerly, and Hermione turned to go.  
“Miss Granger,” he said, before he could help himself.

Hermione turned back toward him. “Yes, sir?”

“You will make an outstanding Potions mistress.” _Why did you say that to her, you idiotic man?_ He quietly added, as if not intending her to hear, “I would have never agreed to take on anyone else.”

**Monday, August 10, 1998**

Hermione hugged Harry once more, then levitated her trunk through the front door of Grimmauld Place for perhaps the final time. She turned back to her best friend, a small, wistful smile playing around her lips.

“Don’t take any shit off of Snape,” Harry said, his voice tightening with emotion.

“Oh, hush, Harry,” she grinned. “Surely you saw how different he is now. Don’t be mean.” She blew him a kiss and said, “I’ll owl soon.” And without another word, she grabbed her trunk and spun into oblivion.

OoOoO

She landed just outside the Hogwarts gates and was not surprised in the least to see Severus Snape awaiting her arrival. It simply wasn’t in his code of conduct to be tardy. “Good morning, Professor!” she smiled brightly. “Thank you for meeting me.”

Despite himself, he allowed her a small smile. “Miss Granger,” he nodded somewhat formally. “Allow me to take your trunk.”

It wasn’t necessary, but to her immense surprise, she found that she appreciated the gesture. “Thank you,” she said demurely. She fell into step just behind him and followed him through the gates, turning to watch as he reengaged the intricate wards protecting the Hogwarts grounds and castle. She spared the briefest of moments to consider—or perhaps more accurately, not consider—exactly why she found it so enticing to watch him perform such complex magic when she would never even notice any other member of the faculty doing so. Shaking that thought from her head almost as soon as it manifested, she settled in next to him for the walk to the castle.

Silently deferring to his well-known hatred of small talk, she maintained a pleasant silence as they walked, and she took the opportunity to surreptitiously observe him. His essential Snape-ness was still present; however, there was a very clear, yet difficult-to-define change about him. He now had an unmistakable aura of…lightness, perhaps? Or freedom. Hermione barely restrained the bitter snort that threatened. And why wouldn’t he seem lighter? Freer? For the first time in decades, he was free. Free to do as he pleased. Free to come and go at his leisure. Free from a master (or two). Free to live his life. Free to just be Severus Snape.

They were walking up the front steps of the castle when she surprised herself by saying, “Sir?” in a voice that was soft, but not timid. Snape looked at her, his eyes beckoning her to continue. Hermione gave him a small smile. “You look good, sir. Freedom is becoming to you.” She glanced around the entrance hall before quietly adding, “I hope you are finding peace.” She half-expected the old Snape to come roaring back with a well-placed insult and the trademark sneer and she was surprised to realize she did not fear his reaction as she once would have.

She was prepared to be berated; she was prepared for stony silence; she was prepared to be insulted. What she was most decidedly _not_ prepared for was for him to give her a sideways glance, acknowledge her sentiments with a tight yet not unfriendly smile, and actually deign to grace her with an answer. He stiffened a bit, but took a deep breath and averted his eyes skyward before saying, “It is…a process, Miss Granger.”

Hermione huffed out a mirthless laugh of agreement, but then clapped a hand over her mouth, chagrined. She stopped dead and put a hand on his arm before she even realized what she was doing. “I’m so sorry, sir,” she said, looking up at him with big eyes. “I realize my experience was completely insignificant compared to yours. I can’t imagine what you must think of me for daring to compare the two.” She looked down, wincing, then realized she was touching him, and drew her hand back as if it was on fire.

A split second passed in which she waited for the other shoe to drop, only to involuntarily jerk her head up at the sound of his amused chuckling. “Come now, Miss Granger. I’m not that scary, am I?” he teased.

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. Did he just make a self-deprecating joke? Snape took pity on her at this point and placed a hand on her shoulder while rolling his eyes in feigned annoyance. “Miss Granger.” He thought better of it, glanced around, and gestured toward a nearby bench in the corridor. He lowered her trunk and then led her to it, apologizing as he did so. “Forgive me. My energy level is still not what it was.” Hermione began to wave him off, but he plunged ahead. “At any rate, Miss Granger. Your apology, and indeed, your embarrassment, is completely unnecessary. First of all, trauma is not a zero-sum game. Suffering is suffering. Just because some suffer more does not lessen the suffering of others. Second, I am 38 years old. You are still not quite 19. As mature as you are, you are young and inexperienced with life. You watched innocent people die. Friends. Housemates. Classmates. Family members,” he uttered quietly, thinking of Fred. “Third, I signed up for this and knew exactly what I was getting into. I had sins to atone for. You simply jumped in and did what you knew to be right, without being asked.” He swallowed hard and for the first time, turned to face her completely head on, his eyes boring into hers. “I think that, all things considered, you have every right to speak of trauma, and horror, and the nightmare of coping in the aftermath.”

Hermione swallowed hard, cursing her traitorous physiology as her eyes filled with tears. She turned her face skyward in an attempt to keep them from spilling, but it was a losing battle as the next time she blinked, they coursed down her cheeks. She was startled to feel the soft press of cotton at her hand and looked down to see Snape offering her a clean white handkerchief. She noted the elegant STS embroidered in the corner before taking it with a whispered, “Thank you, Sir.”

He gave her another minute to collect herself, and then he cleared his throat awkwardly and said, “I feel sufficiently rested. Shall we continue?”

She rose in response, and he levitated her trunk once more as they continued their journey. Suddenly, Hermione realized that she had been so preoccupied with her thoughts that she hadn’t spared any consideration for their destination. “Sir?”

“Mm?” Snape answered absently.

“Am I to have rooms in the dungeons, then?”

“That would be the most logical place for you to lodge, would it not, Miss Granger? Or will the princess of Gryffindor wither and die if she is deprived of her beloved tower?”

Hermione was shocked to find that the words that would have made her younger self cringe were actually delivered with the faintest hint of amused sarcasm. She wondered if that hint of humor had always been there and she had just never picked up on it, or if this was part of the new, improved Snape. Her response consisted simply of a single, imperiously raised eyebrow, a subtle nod to his own habitual quirk, and she was pleasantly surprised to see one corner of his mouth tilt up into an amused smirk.

Snape walked past the Potions classroom to his office door. He turned to her and instructed, “Please place the tip of your wand against the door, as well as your other palm.” Hermione complied. Snape muttered an incantation under his breath and Hermione felt the rippling of the wards as she was accepted into their folds. “There,” Snape said. “I’ve keyed you into my wards so that you are recognized by either your wand or simply your physical presence. Come on in, then.”

He entered the office and Hermione followed him into the familiar space, wondering why they were stopping here before going to her new quarters. She was replacing her wand in her sleeve when she saw him place a hand against the stone wall so that a door appeared from what was seemingly nothingness. He opened the door and stepped back, holding his arm out to beckon her through. As she passed through the doorway, he explained, “Minerva and I took the time this past week to wrangle some new quarters out of the castle. There was not a suitable spot in the Potions classroom for a new doorway for separate quarters, so this was the best solution we could come up with, short of housing you in a completely different part of the castle entirely, which, of course, would be quite inconvenient. Both the existing doorway for my quarters in the classroom, as well as this door in my office now lead to this…what shall we call it…foyer?...of sorts.” Snape then indicated two additional doorways. “My quarters,” he indicated, “and yours,” he finished, pointing to each. He gave a wry smile. “The, ah, décor was Minerva’s touch, I’m afraid.”

Hermione grinned at this. The heavy oak wood of the door to their right was inlaid with a beautiful, ornate snake, and the same wood of the door to their left featured a magnificent lion.

“Hmm,” Hermione commented drolly. “Does she think I’m so damaged from the war I won’t be able to remember which door is my own?” She smirked, then added, “Don’t answer that.”

Snape looked as though he was stifling a smile as he brushed past her and opened the door to her quarters. She followed him through and gasped. She had never been in the private quarters of any staff member before, so she had no reference point from which to develop expectations, but this was…exquisite. “Professor…” she whispered, “this is beautiful.”

She was in a sitting room outfitted in dark woods with muted splashes of color here and there. The bookshelves and mantle over the stone fireplace appeared to be a dark cherry or similar wood. The furniture—a Chesterfield and two matching wingback chairs of a dark, luxurious leather—and two end tables, as well as a coffee table matched the bookshelves. The rug on the stone floor was plush and looked as if she could lie down upon it and go right to sleep. A deep red and yellow afghan was thrown over the back of the couch, and two matching throw pillows completed the look. The colors were not exactly Gryffindor, but were close enough to evoke the association. Hermione thought it was perfect.

“I am glad you approve,” Snape returned with a wry smile. “If Minerva had had her way, you would be drowning in tartan plaid. I managed to…sway her décor choices by suggesting that a subtle nod to your House might be…comforting.” Snape affected a vaguely discomfited expression and redirected the conversation, gesturing toward a generous grouping of books lining the bottom-most of the bookshelves. “I, ah, hope you do not mind, but I took the liberty of purchasing a few relevant Potions texts for you. I thought you might find these volumes to be useful and enlightening, and this way you will not find yourself in the position of having to build your potions reference library from scratch.”

Hermione, who was never short of words, was unable to answer, so great was her shock. Melodramatic as she knew it was, she felt as if her entire perception of the universe had just tilted somehow. Snape, arguing with McGonagall on her behalf, over something as banal as décor?! Why on earth should he care whether or not she liked the décor in her quarters? And the books! If there was one thing Hermione Granger knew, it was books, and she knew full well that she was looking at a collection that had set him back at least 100 Galleons, and that was just at a glance. There were one or two volumes slipped in amongst the others that had a distinct look of age to them, and she would not have put it past him to have slipped in an ancient tome or two. One thing she knew about Severus Snape was that, regardless of how he felt about a person (and at this point, her head was spinning because after years of confidence in his utter dislike of her, she was for the first time having some doubt about that), he would put his name on nothing that was not the epitome of excellence—including his apprentice. She knew full well that once he had agreed to take her on, he would never release her as a fully qualified potions mistress until she had met his exacting standards to perfection.

Hermione snapped to as she realized that Snape was once again moving and speaking. “Through here is the kitchen.” He led her to a very small kitchen—it was more than what might be termed a kitchenette, but it was quite small, really only large enough to provide for one or two. “As I’m sure you have ascertained over your time here, Hogwarts staff members are not required to take every meal in the Great Hall, but it is frowned upon to miss them on a regular basis. That being said, a kitchen is provided to each staff member, whether for regular meals or midnight snacks. You may use it or not, as you wish. And though I know how you feel about the servitude of house elves,” (at this, Hermione winced), “you do, of course, have the full complement of Hogwarts house elves at your service. And yes, I assure you, Miss Granger, they are all treated exceptionally well and given more than reasonable working accommodations. Your primary house elf will be Lolly.” At this, Snape gave his fingers a quick snap and barked out, “Lolly!”

In an instant the tiny elf appeared, wearing a tea towel embroidered with the Hogwarts crest and bowing deeply at the waist. “Hello, Mistress. I is Lolly and I is happy to be of service. Mistress just call for Lolly at any time. Can Lolly bring Mistress and Master some tea?”

Hermione had not realized it until that moment, but tea sounded like just the thing. This was a lot of transition, and tea made everything seem less daunting. “Yes, please, Lolly, that would be wonderful, if you don’t mind,” answered Hermione kindly.

The elf popped away and Severus beckoned her deeper into the chambers. “Through here is the bedroom. There is an en suite bathroom attached, as well as a nook that should serve you well as a study,” he stated somewhat stiffly.

Hermione followed him obediently and walked into the bathroom, curious to see if it had a bathtub, or only a shower. She gasped at what she saw. At her gasp, Severus followed, coming up short when he saw her standing still, one delicate hand covering her mouth. She was staring at the bathing facilities—a tiled shower with a showerhead mounted to the ceiling, and a massive tub with multiple jets throughout. “Wow…” she breathed quietly.

Severus cleared his throat, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. “Yes, well, Minerva suggested to me that young women do appreciate luxurious facilities for bathing, so we tried to accommodate that here.” He cleared his throat again—“Ahem…I trust you find your quarters to be satisfactory?” It did not escape her notice that he was attempting to appear as if he was meeting her gaze, but was, in fact, staring at her forehead.

Hermione swallowed, hard. “Yes, sir,” she murmured quietly. “It is perfect. Thank you so much—for everything, really, but particularly your thoughtfulness,” she ventured.

Snape looked at her for a brief moment, nodded once, firmly, and spun on his heel to leave. As he did so, he said, “Excellent. Referencing our earlier conversation, regarding meals in the Great Hall, because of your…unique status as an unofficial eighth year, a NEWT student not participating in regular classes, and a conditional apprentice, you will have your choice of taking meals with your fellow Gryffindors at their common table, or at the head table with the rest of the staff. Erm, and again, you will be expected to take most of your meals in the Great Hall, but there is a bit of leeway provided…” He trailed off, leaving something unsaid.

Hermione picked up on it rather quickly, and answered him. “Yes, sir. Thank you. I think, if it is all right with you and the headmistress, I will take my first couple of meals after the Sorting Feast here in quarters. There may be some of us who relish fame,” she said in a barely-disguised reference to Ron, “but as for myself, I hate the attention and would prefer to delay my exposure to it for as long as possible…?” she said, her voice unsure and questioning.

Snape huffed out a mirthless laugh in sympathy with her sentiments. “Indeed, Miss Granger,” he said, turning and staring her right in the eyes. “I’ve no doubt you speak the truth. There shall be no problem if you wish to take your first few meals here in your quarters.”

With that, he turned on his heel one final time and exited her quarters, leaving Hermione Granger with quite a lot to consider.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh...my lovelies. I feel like I spend all of time apologizing for my failings. Once again, I intended fully to have this posted before we left a couple of weeks ago for yet *another* marathon (the Marine Corps Marathon, this time, in DC, and if the cuteness quotient factors in at all, it was my smallest one's first time to fly, as we did not take him to Chicago for the last go round...needless to say, his enthusiasm was adorable, and we had a great trip. Still....I'm sorry). I know that "real life" is a very legitimate excuse, but all the same, I know that when I get hooked on a story, delays absolutely kill me, and while I would never want to have such hubris as to assume anyone is fawning over one of my stories, I still feel the need to apologize. 
> 
> That said, I hope this is somewhat worth the wait.

The next three weeks were spent, as Master Snape had indicated, re-establishing the potions lab in preparation for the new school year. The fact that it was located in the dungeons was a small mercy, as the structural damage that the lab itself sustained was less severe than the rest of the castle, so the repairs were long since finished. However, it did not change the fact that most of the existing equipment and ingredient stocks were damaged or ruined outright in the battle. When Hermione noticed that all of the school-issued cauldrons had been replaced with brand-new cauldrons of exceptionally high quality— _much_ nicer than anything she’d ever had access to—she wondered out loud where the funding for _that_ had come from, and she was absolutely floored when Snape mumbled quietly under his breath that he had too many patents and not enough use for the royalties, and had asked the goblins of Gringotts to begin diverting all profits from the sale of his personal variation of the Dreamless Sleep Draught into a new account for use by Hogwarts—and that he’d given the other professors permission to access that account as well.

She contemplated what she had learned so far of this “new” Snape. He had actually battled her own Head of House on her behalf, arguing for Gryffindor décor over tartan plaid. Severus Snape, Notorious Loather of All Things Gryffindor, had fought for Gryffindor furnishings…for her. _Wow_ , was the only coherent thought she managed to connect with that realization.

OoOoO

Snape was well-aware of Hermione’s legendary anxiety when it came to exams—any exam, really—but he also knew that her panic level jumped significantly when the exams at hand were of any importance—say, for example, OWLs or NEWTs. Having no desire to deal with Anxious and Uptight Hermione, he drew on his Inner Slytherin and came up with a sneaky revision method—casual conversation.

A few days after she was installed permanently in the castle, the two were working in the lab inventorying and cataloguing ingredient stocks, when Snape told her in a casual tone that he would be orally quizzing her to ensure she was ready to take on duties marking papers, not to mention teaching the lower years in a few months’ time. His hope was that the busy work of doing inventory would be sufficient distraction so that her brain wouldn’t freak out and melt down. After all, brilliant as she was, if she had an intellectual fault, it was overthinking.

He started out with simple questions that would be geared toward lower years, so as not to raise her suspicions. As he’d anticipated, the answers—well-thought-out and thorough—came flowing out of her effortlessly. Snape barely suppressed a smirk as he slowly—oh, so slowly—began ramping up the difficulty of the questions. _Like a frog into boiling water_ , he thought to himself.

It took her a mere three hours to catch on.

He was quizzing her on Wolfsbane Potion—specifically, the whys and hows of certain steps, and the catastrophic results that could occur from a single misstep—when she whirled on him and nearly dropped the jar of lacewing flies that she was inventorying. “Wait a minute,” she glared at him. “You’re revising me, aren’t you?”

But Snape did something completely unexpected then.

He laughed. _Hard._

Hermione thought she’d seen it all. She could handle Furious Snape, Scathing Snape, Sarcastic Snape, Sullen Snape, and Sneering Snape. She was not, however, prepared to deal with Legitimately Laughing Snape. She concentrated hard on keeping her lower jaw in place.

She stared at him, her face blank with shock. It had been five days, and she was still trying to get used to seeing the occasional tiny smile grace his face. Actual laughter was… It was… Well, fuck. She didn’t know what the hell it was.

OoOoO

** Tuesday, September 1, 1998 **

True to her word, Hermione continued to take her meals in the Great Hall with the other faculty members for the remainder of the break. However, at breakfast on September 1, Snape noticed that she was unusually taciturn, picked at her food, and twisted her napkin nervously in her lap. She was clearly concerned about the Sorting Feast that evening. He had told her she could take her meals in chambers for the first few days of the term, but that obviously did not include the Sorting, where the Headmistress would introduce her as Professor Snape’s new apprentice, and the prospect was obviously getting to her.

At lunch, she was completely silent, not even bothering to pretend to eat, and her hands had progressed from nervous twisting to white-knuckled clutching.

Before he could police himself, Severus reached over and placed his right hand atop her fists. “Miss Granger,” he murmured. “It will be fine. Please. Relax.”

“I just don’t know if I’m ready for the scrutiny,” she uttered painfully through clenched teeth.

Snape smiled at her sympathetically. “Just think of it this way. We’ll be in the same boat this evening. Why, I simply can’t wait to deal with all of the ‘ _Oh! Professor Dickhead was a good guy all along!’_ fallout,” he said wryly, and was gratified by the giggle he received for his efforts.

“Thank you,” she murmured quietly, and turned one of her hands over quickly to give his a brief squeeze of appreciation.

Taking a deep breath, she did her best to eat a few bites of soup, if nothing else.

At 4:30, key members of the staff left the castle to meet the _Hogwarts Express_ in Hogsmeade. Hagrid was to escort his beloved first years, as always, and the Headmistress, who had retained her title of Head of Gryffindor House, joined him, along with the other Heads of Houses. Hermione felt bereft at Severus’ absence, but tried to occupy herself with preparing for the feast. She knew she would be under the most intense of microscopes, so she figured she might as well make an effort to look her best. She tamed her normally frizzy hair into silky waves using one of Lavender’s beauty spells, and tried to ignore the pang in her heart as she did so. ‘ _This one’s for you, Lav,_ ’ she thought to herself. It no longer mattered that they hadn’t gotten along, that she’d thought Lavender shallow and vapid, that Lavender had thought her pretentious and swotty; all that she could think of now was that she would never hear Lavender’s innocent giggles again—would never be able to ask her for beauty advice again.

Her hair and makeup completed to her satisfaction, Hermione turned to her wardrobe and the small selection of brand-new teaching robes she had bought. She chose a robe of dark green in a subtle nod to her new Master and slipped it on after reverently fingering the various badges embroidered upon it—her Gryffindor House badge, the Hogwarts crest, and the one of which she was easily proudest—her official Hogwarts Potions Apprentice crest. She slipped into her heels and stepped back to appraise her image in the mirror.

Taking a deep breath, she said to herself, “I guess this is as good as it’s going to get,” and turned with determination. Her next stop: the Great Hall and the Sorting Feast.

OoOoO

Hermione sat fidgeting at the Head Table, waiting for the massive influx of students. She tried to focus on the positives—she’d see Ginny soon, Luna would be there, Neville and Hannah were with her at the Head Table, and soon enough, Severus would be back by her side.

Wait, what?

When did he become “Severus” in her mind? And precisely when did the thought of his presence become a thing of comfort, rather than anxiety?

Before she could ponder those thoughts any longer, she heard the enormous front doors of the castle thud open and the voices of hundreds of students began to roll toward her. She exchanged looks with both Neville and Hannah and knew that, on some level, they shared her anxiety. She took a deep breath as the returning students began pouring into the Great Hall and taking their places at their House tables. She saw many familiar faces, and a few young faces that she didn’t recognize—those would be the second years that she had not gotten to meet the previous year.

After a few minutes, all of the returning students were seated and Hermione glimpsed Hagrid organizing the firsties in the grand foyer before the doors to the Great Hall closed. Almost simultaneously, the staff door behind the Head Table opened and the four Heads of House returned to take their places amongst the other staff and apprentices.

“All right?” Snape murmured as he slid into his seat beside her. Looking down at her hands in her lap, she just nodded. “You look…lovely,” Snape said hesitantly, and Hermione was barely able to keep her mouth from falling open. A statement like that from Severus Snape was akin to a marriage proposal from most any other man.

_‘Good gods freedom has changed him.’_

Thankfully, she was denied the chance to ruminate further as the doors to the Great Hall were thrown open once more and Hagrid led the tiny-looking first years in to be sorted. Headmistress McGonagall stood with the Sorting Hat and the parchment containing the names of this year’s first year class.

“Anderson, Benedict!”

And so began the Sorting.

OoOoO

Half an hour later, the first years had been Sorted, and four long tables were finally full of students, who looked expectantly at the Head Table. Here it was—the part Hermione had been dreading since Severus Snape had agreed to take her on as his apprentice a month prior—the Speech and the Introductions. As Headmistress McGonagall approached the dais to speak, Hermione steeled herself. And as much as he had tried to calm her, she was cognizant of the fact that Severus had also stiffened in anticipation of the welcome speech.

“Good evening,” she said solemnly. “I doubt very much that I can find words adequate to state what a momentous occasion tonight is, after the events of the past few years. All of us have lived through a nightmare, and I can say with complete honesty that it is my absolute pleasure to see each and _every_ one of you here today,” she said, with a small smile directed to the Slytherin table.

“I also feel that it is important to note that Professor Snape is not returning as Headmaster by his own choice. He was, of course, given every opportunity to continue in that role, but he respectfully declined.” Hermione could practically _hear_ Snape’s teeth clenching at the unwanted attention. “Therefore, I will be taking over as Headmistress, but I will continue in my former role as Gryffindor Head of House until a suitable replacement is found. Taking my place as Transfigurations professor will be Professor Flanagan. Professor?” McGonagall gestured to the newcomer, and he stood and acknowledged the students’ polite applause. McGonagall continued, “As you all know, the older returning students have been given a variety of options for completing their education after the events of the past few months. As such, I want to make you aware of the reasons you see three of your former peers at the head table. These three students have chosen to take on apprenticeships in lieu of re-doing their final year. Each of them will be sitting their NEWT exams in the near future, and then will take up their apprenticeships upon successful completion of those tests. Miss Hannah Abbot will be working with Madam Pomfrey as a healer’s apprentice.” She paused while the students applauded politely—the exception being the wildly cheering table of Hufflepuffs, of course. Mr. Neville Longbottom will be undertaking his apprenticeship in herbology with Professor Sprout.” Another pause, and a riotous chorus of cheers from the Gryffindor table. It seemed that Neville’s bravery over the last academic year had not been forgotten. “And finally, Professor Snape will be resuming his former post as Potions Master, as well as Head of Slytherin House, and he will have as his apprentice Miss Hermione Granger.”

Despite the polite applause that followed, Hermione could ascertain that hidden amongst it were undercurrents of shock and confusion. She imagined that she could discern the exact content of the whispers she could hear— _“Hermione Granger? The Gryffindor—the brains of the Golden Trio….apprenticing with SNAPE?!?”_ —and her face flamed. She didn’t want this. She just wanted to be left to her studies. She tensed up at the gossip she could hear flowing through the room, and it was only when she felt Snape’s hand—so slowly, so stealthily, and so casually that no one looking above table-level would have ever known he had moved it—that she managed to relax at all. His hand covered her fists and gave a gentle squeeze, and her shoulders slumped a tiny bit in grateful appreciation. “Thank you,” she whispered quietly. Another squeeze, and he released her.

OoOoO

Hermione took her meals in her quarters for the remainder of the week, but she was not completely lacking for company. On two occasions, she invited Ginny, Luna, Neville, and Hannah to join her for dinner, and very much enjoyed the companionship she found with them. They were all intrigued by her new quarters, not to mention her apparent lack of fear toward her new master, Severus Snape.

Hermione felt an unexpected protectiveness toward said master, and so she said precious little that could go toward satisfying her companions’ blatant curiosity about the potions master. Even if she couldn’t explain exactly _why_ she felt the way she did, she was possessed by a deep-down feeling that protecting Snape’s privacy was the right thing to do. So she gave frustrating and unsatisfying non-committal answers with small, sly smiles and felt positively Slytherin while doing so.

Wait, what?

Slytherin?

OoOoO

She managed to keep a fairly low profile while she fulfilled her duties of cleaning the lab, preparing the lab, marking papers, and revising. Revision was constant and random once Snape agreed to drop the subterfuge if she would try to “calm the fuck down about it,” as he so eloquently phrased it. She’d agreed with a belly laugh, and in return, he’d shot her a lopsided grin that made her belly flutter in a way she didn’t care to analyze too closely. She had thought revision was progressing nicely until one day in mid-October.

“My Gods, Miss Granger,” he said with an exasperated sigh and an eye roll. “Can we please just dispense with this nonsense already? This is ridiculous and a waste of time.”

Hermione froze. “Sir? I’m sorry?”

Snape rolled his magnificently black eyes back _slowly_ this time, making sure the effect came across.

“Miss Granger,” he drawled, “this is a waste of time. There is no NEWT-level question that I can throw out that you can’t answer practically before it’s out of my mouth. And the same goes for quite a few questions I’ve thrown at you that are well beyond the NEWT-level. If you force me to continue this for another two months, I fear I shall lose my damn mind. You are ready for your NEWT in Potions. Please, for the love of Salazar Slytherin, just take the damn thing. Immediately.”

An entirely inappropriate thrill ran through his body as he watched Hermione slowly break into the most genuine grin he’d seen in weeks. “You’re completely serious, aren’t you?” she said, her eyes sparkling.

He answered her, trying to maintain an air somewhere between ‘aloof’ and ‘amused’—“You have no idea, Miss Granger.” He deigned to grace her with a small snort of mirth. “But yes. I am completely and 100% serious. Sit your Potions NEWT. Now. If you do not score an Outstanding, I give you my word that I will show up to every Quidditch match for the rest of the year in a Gryffindor tie, robes, and scarf. Hell, I’ll borrow Miss Lovegood’s fucking lion head. I’ll make a point to bow down and kiss Godric Gryffindor’s fucking toes every time I pass his statue on the second floor. _Take the fucking NEWT, Hermione, before I’m resigned to a life in the Janus Thickey ward, for God’s sake._ ”

He was irritated with himself as her reaction both annoyed and amused him. His conscience berated him loudly. _‘Severus Snape, you complete wanker. Get ahold of yourself, you daft prick. SHE’S NINETEEN YEARS OLD, for fuck’s sake. You could be her goddamn father, you perv.’_

The problem was that he seemed to have _another_ conscience, and for the life of him, he couldn’t decide whether this one was playing good cop or bad cop. On the one hand, it seemed to only want his happiness. But on the other hand, it apparently also wanted him to look like Wizarding Britain’s most famous paedophile. _‘Uhhhm, look mate, what’s the problem here? For Slytherin’s sake, she’s nineteen. She’s been of age for two fucking years. Explain to me again why you’re not hitting that? Holy shit, your choir boy side was right. You_ ARE _a daft prick. Look, mate, I’m sorry if you’re too oblivious to see it, but that girl eye-fucks you like a nymphomaniac who’s been stuck on a deserted island for a decade.’_

Wait, what?

She does?


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walls begin to come down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear lord...my sweet readers. Please forgive me. Life has been just a nightmare lately, and this has been nearly ready to post for weeks and weeks now. In truth, I cut it off WAY before I intended the chapter to end just so I could get something posted. Rest assured there are several thousand words after this already written...they just need to be cleaned up. Please forgive me for the delay. If it means anything, I was nearly delirious with excitement and anticipation last night (Friday), because this was the first weekend I can recall in I HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG that we have nothing...absolutely nothing...on our family agenda. Put it this way: I slept in until 3:00 this afternoon.

After only a bit more prodding on Snape’s part, Hermione had finally admitted that the other professors had been expressing similar sentiments as they helped her revise for her NEWTs, and she reluctantly agreed to go ahead and sit for the tests as soon as it could be arranged with the Ministry. Snape had asked if she would be more comfortable taking the exams at the Ministry or Hogwarts, and finally, he got an answer out of her that contained no hesitation. “Here, most definitely,” she said firmly. “In fact,” she said, almost shyly, “would it be possible for all of the exams to be given in the same location? It would be nice if I could take them here,” she said, gesturing to the Potions classroom. “I feel at ease here,” she said quietly, without looking at him.

“I think that can be arranged,” was all he said in reply, but he couldn’t help the pleasant feeling of pride that spread through him in knowing that there was at least one student who felt at home in his dungeons. “We will require another location for the Defence practical, but everything else we should be able to accommodate.” The gentle smile she gave him in return guaranteed that he would do all he could to make that a reality.

OoOoO

Snape sent word to Minerva to contact the Ministry, and the exams were scheduled for the next week. She would test over two subjects per day—one written test and one practicum for each subject—with one day off between each set of exams. The exception would be the first day of testing, in which she would sit three subjects, as Ancient Runes did not include a practicum. In the meantime, she tried to stay calm, and Professor Snape attempted to distract her by beginning to make plans for her apprenticeship.

“Not to get ahead of ourselves just yet, but have you given any thought to what you might like to pursue for your independent research and thesis?”

“I have, sir,” she stated quietly.

“And?” He noted that there was an unexpected flicker of fear in her eyes.

“Will you please hear me out before you react?” she asked with clear trepidation.

He raised one imperious eyebrow but nodded silently.

Hermione cleared her throat and steeled herself. Then she nodded at his neck. She took a deep breath and stated plainly, “It has not escaped my notice that since this term began, and indeed, even over the summer, I’ve not once seen your neck bare. I can only assume that this is by design,” she added quickly.

A dark look passed over Snape’s face and he opened his mouth, but Hermione held up a hand and plowed ahead. “The scarring from Nagini may be fairly unique to you, but think of all the other survivors of the war who bear scars caused by Dark magic.”

She was right and he knew it, but he couldn’t help responding—albeit with a less severe sneer than usual—“And what of it? What do you care, Miss Granger?”

She took a deep, steadying breath. “May I show you something?”

He looked at her warily, then, against his better judgment, nodded once.

Hermione closed her eyes, breathed once more, and reached down, arms crossed at the wrist, to grab the hem of her shirt with both hands. “Don’t freak out,” she muttered, her eyes still closed. Then, in one smooth movement, she lifted her shirt up and over her head.

Snape’s intended outburst of “What the hell, Miss Granger?!” died on his lips before he could produce a single sound as he stared in shock at what she had revealed. Hermione Granger stood before him, bare from the waist up, save for her bra. Her torso (how had he neglected to notice this before??) was lovely—perfectly proportioned, curves in all of the right places, perky breasts beneath her bra, and an expanse of creamy skin that would make the tongue of any red-blooded man water in anticipation. But cutting through that perfection was absolute desecration in the form of a one-inch-wide scar. It was thick and ropey in appearance, protruding significantly from the surrounding skin. And it wasn’t small in scope, either—it ran from just beneath her left collarbone, between her breasts, all the way down to her right hipbone.

His eyes, horrified, stared dumbly at the scar, then flicked up to meet Hermione’s gaze briefly before settling back upon the horrific blemish. “Who did this to you?” he demanded, unable to tear his eyes away.

“Dolohov,” she said quietly, but with no hesitation. “Two and a half years ago at the Department of Mysteries.”

“It’s… It’s his severing charm,” he whispered. “It is…a _personal_ creation of his,” he sneered with obvious disgust. “But how—“

“I had silenced him just before he cast,” Hermione explained, anticipating his line of questioning. “So it was a nonverbal cast, and thus not as powerful.”

Snape collapsed onto a stool, his mouth a bit slack. “Hermione,” he whispered, looking at nothing, “have you _any_ idea what would have happened had you not cast the silencing spell?”

Hermione swallowed hard, taken aback by the brokenness in his voice. “I didn’t then,” she said softly. “I do now.” She shook her head as if to clear it of unsettling thoughts. “There are others besides Dolohov’s,” she stated plainly, almost defiantly. “The ones in more conspicuous places I keep covered with clothing as much as I can stand it, and when it’s just too warm, I use glamours. But regardless, I hate having to think about covering them, and besides,” she said quietly, “there’s nothing I can do about them that would make me less self-conscious in…an intimate situation.” Before he could respond, she turned wordlessly and he very nearly gagged as she displayed the criss-cross of thick, almost scaly-looking patches of scarred skin on her back.

“Cruciatus,” he whispered brokenly. He looked quickly up into her eyes. “Who? When?”

She only shook her head silently at him, a look of trauma upon her face. Undeterred, he plunged ahead. “Let me see the others. Drop your glamours.”

She shook her head silently and mouthed, “No,” at him.

“Hermione,” he growled in warning.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you think your growled commands and menacing stare can compare with being Crucioed, think again, Professor.” She gave him a withering look and rolled her eyes before saying, “However, in the interest of making my point, I will remove _one_ of the glamours. The other one is non-negotiable. No one has seen it other than Madam Pomfrey and those who were there with me when I received it. That isn’t going to change today or any time soon. Period,” she said with harsh finality. She waved her wand briefly at her throat and suddenly a small, but very bright silver scar appeared. Before Snape could even react, she continued speaking. “This was made by a cursed blade, as was the other scar that is still glamoured. Obviously, this is no gaping neck wound from a psychopathic, possessed snake. But nonetheless, I _am_ a female, and I don’t have a lot going for me in the looks department, as you’ve been kind enough to point out in the past,” she needled dryly. She felt both regret and satisfaction at the look of anguish that flashed across his visage. “So it’s not a stretch, I hope, for you to realize the toll that disfiguring scars such as these can take on the self-esteem…particularly on the self-esteem of a young witch who already carries a great deal of insecurity about her looks,” she finished, her voice small. She had (surprisingly) rendered the Potions Master speechless, so she took a quick moment to gather herself together before closing out her argument.

“So you see, Professor, while it may seem frivolous on the surface, I’d like to research potions to help cure or at least mitigate the damage left from Dark magic curses. It’s not just about you, or about me. Think of Bill Weasley. Or his sister,” she mumbled. At this, Snape looked tormented.

“I tried,” he whispered, looking at her with an expression akin to…pleading. His eyes were hollow and haunted. “Gods…I did everything I could, but in the end, there was only so much I could intervene without giving everything away.” He swallowed.

“Miss Weasley was…she was magnificent last year,” he stated with feeling. “Godric Gryffindor himself could not have asked for more.” He looked straight into Hermione’s eyes now. “In fact, Miss Granger, it will please you to know that every single upper year Gryffindor was a credit to their House last year.” He allowed a tiny bit of mirth to creep into his voice as he continued, “And not just the Gryffindors, either. I did quite think at times that Miss Lovegood, along with Mr. Longbottom, Miss Weasley, and Mr. Finnegan, were going to be the death of me.”

Hermione couldn’t help the laughter that escaped her. And then, it seemed to dawn on her out of the blue that she was still standing in front of the master she was apprenticed to with her shirt in her hands. She gasped quietly in embarrassment and roughly pulled her shirt back over her head. “I apologize,” she whispered.

“There’s no need, Miss Granger,” he told her honestly. “You made your point.” He looked away, a distant look on his face. After a moment, he sighed quietly, and stated, “Very well then. As soon as your exams are complete, begin your preliminary investigations into what is known and what has already been done in terms of research, and submit a proposal for your own research. I have no doubt I am wasting my breath saying this, as you will undoubtedly provide me with parchment containing everything ever published on everything remotely related to anything even potentially relevant—all cross-referenced, color-coded, and indexed, at that—but I will want to see everything—all existing studies and data, methodology, what we know does and doesn’t work, what has been theorized and rejected, what has been theorized but never tested, etc—in other words, _all of it. Everything._ Understood?”

“Indeed, Sir,” Hermione answered, a huge grin on her face as she absently rubbed at her left forearm.

OoOoO

She had turned away, still grinning in triumph, when there was a quiet, “Miss Granger.” She turned back to him only to find that he now had his back to her, his hands in his pockets, and she could tell he was looking at the ground.

“Sir?” she answered him quietly.

“Miss Granger,” he whispered, “I want to apologize for the part that I played in making you feel insecure about your…attractiveness. There were times that it was difficult for me to know where to draw the line in my role as the Gryffindor-hating Potions Master, and in that particular instance I was very clearly in the wrong. It is easy as an adult male to forget how…fragile the adolescent psyche can be—especially for young ladies.” He paused and she was too stunned to respond before he continued, his voice so low she could barely hear him. “Please believe me when I say that I did not mean what I said then,” he whispered, “and regardless of that, when it comes to now, you have grown into quite a beautiful young woman. You have no need for insecurity or doubt.” She had stopped breathing, and the silence was deafening in the split second before he quickly strode out of the room without looking back, leaving one absolutely gobsmacked Hermione Granger in his wake.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Firewhiskey, NEWTs, a duel with an audience, and a conversation that goes above and beyond a simple bit of TMI.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's nothing short of a Christmas miracle. I do have to apologize because I told one reader that Hermione would reveal her scar in this chapter, and it will not actually happen until the next chapter. The tradeoff is that you get this chapter NOW instead of in a few more days.

Hermione could not understand how, but the next week flew by at breakneck speed as it simultaneously crawled. Naturally, it had been scheduled so that Potions and DADA fell on Friday, the final day of her examinations, giving her ample time for her anxiety to get the better of her.

On Thursday night, after breezing through her first five exams and the accompanying practicums, she found herself nearly hysterical with anxiety over the remaining two subjects. She left her room and began pacing the halls of the dungeon, wringing her hands and trying to breathe. When midnight came and went and she was no closer to being calm, she decided that desperate times called for desperate measures, and she found herself at Snape’s door, banging against it with the silver knocker atop the inlaid snake.

A moment later the door swung slowly inward, revealing the ever-present singular raised eyebrow. Snape leaned against the door and pursed his lips as he surveyed her. “Miss Granger…?” he drawled, asking without asking exactly why she was outside his personal quarters after midnight.

“May I come in?” she blurted without thinking. She was twisting her hands together with anxiety, and Snape wordlessly stepped back, allowing her entry.

She stepped in quickly and then came up short as she realized she’d never actually been _inside_ his living quarters before. She’d been at the doorway, but no further. She took a quick, furtive glance around his sitting room before blurting out, “Do you have any alcohol?” Snape raised both eyebrows at this, but she plowed ahead before he could respond. “I’m terrified about tomorrow. I don’t have any dreamless because I threw it all out earlier in the summer when I realized I was becoming addicted to it, and I don’t have any other sleep potions, either, and at this rate, I’m sure to score a troll on both tests because I’ll never go to sleep otherwise.” She seemed to force herself to stop rambling then, and finished with, “So…do you? Please?”

Snape stared her down, and just as she was starting to wilt, certain that she had let him down tremendously, for certainly he was going to deny her, he sighed softly and gestured toward the leather couch behind him. “Sit, Miss Granger,” he said as he moved to what was clearly his own preferred armchair. Next to it was a small mahogany table, upon which sat a book, a crystal decanter of what looked to be firewhiskey, and a snifter of the same. She had evidently interrupted him in the midst of his own nightcap. He wordlessly and wandlessly summoned a second snifter, and uncapped the decanter to pour when he paused and looked up at her. “How much experience do you have with alcohol, Miss Granger?” The eyebrow raise annoyed her that time.

“Not as much as some, I’m sure,” she said, managing to hold back all but the tiniest hint of irritation. “But it’s safe to say that the night following the final battle, we nearly destroyed what was left of Gryffindor Tower with our drunken celebrating. And I won’t lie and say I’ve been a perfect teetotaler since then, either.” He started a bit when she muttered under her breath, “This ‘Princess of Gryffindor’ bullshit is getting old.”

This time he raised both eyebrows and allowed a small smirk to break through. “That’s fair enough, Miss Granger. Fair enough indeed.” He proceeded to pour her a generous but not excessive measure of firewhiskey and handed it over. She took a deep pull and closed her eyes against the burn but did not cough or shudder. Snape sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, and steepled his fingers as he observed her. “Now. Let’s talk, Miss Granger.” She looked up at him, her eyes wary. “What has you so worked up, if you will?”

Hermione took a deep breath, tossed back another mouthful of firewhiskey, and swallowed hard. Looking anywhere but at him, she shrugged and said, “I don’t know.”

“Try again, Miss Granger.”

Her eyes snapped to his at that, and a brief flicker of irritation crossed her features. “Fine,” she said a little snappishly, “As I told you, I’m terrified about tomorrow.”

The look he graced her with was withering. “I gathered that much, Miss Granger. What I want to know is, why? These are easily your two best disciplines, and you have displayed little anxiety over the other disciplines this week. You should be breathing a sigh of relief right now and coasting home with no concerns. So I will ask you one last time—what are you so worried about?”

She was mentally exhausted and unable to hold back any longer, and before she could check herself, she was blurting out, “Okay! They are also _your_ two best disciplines, my apprenticeship hangs on them, and I’m absolutely petrified of disappointing you or letting you down!” He very nearly chuckled as her eyes grew comically large and she clapped a hand over her mouth as though she could shove the words back in.

As it was, he allowed a smirk, though not an unkind one, to settle upon his lips. She looked mortified, and he suddenly had the thought that the pink blush stealing across her cheeks was quite endearing. ‘ _Stop that,_ ’ the inner choir boy was muttering at him again. Pushing both the thought and the choir boy aside, he leaned forward to place his elbows on his knees, glass of whiskey held between them.

“Miss Granger, look at me,” he commanded. Slowly she brought her eyes up to meet his, a look of utter chagrin on her face. She opened her mouth to speak—aiming for damage control, if he knew her, which he was beginning to think he just might—and he shook his head at her. “Miss Granger, I know that it will take more than a few genial conversations mixed with explanations about my motives to clear away years of…mistreatment…but please be assured that in all the time I have known you, you have yet to disappoint me.” He stopped. “Let me qualify that. You have yet to disappoint me _academically_.” He allowed another smirk, this one quite full of mirth. “I admit to being not best pleased when you, ahem, absconded with some of my ingredients in your second year—“at this her head snapped up and she grinned widely but had the decency to look a bit abashed as well. He responded with a knowingly raised eyebrow, a spark of humor present in his eyes. “Setting me on fire was another stellar moment. Then there were the times one of you three made some stunningly dunderheaded decision that forced me into damage control or protective detail.” He rolled his eyes good-naturedly at this and she stifled a small giggle. He became serious once more then. “But not once, Miss Granger, have I ever been disappointed in you academically, whether or not I could freely express such. Now you listen to me. You are going to finish your drink and you are going to go to bed. If you are not able to fall asleep in half an hour, you will return to me and I will give you a potion. In the meantime, you are going to repeat to yourself what I am about to say, now that I _can_ , in fact, say it.”

He leaned forward even further, stared into her eyes, and said with as much solemnity and sincerity as she had ever heard from him, “Hermione Granger, you are without a doubt, the single most gifted student I have taught in nearly two decades here at Hogwarts—and yes, I mean that for both subjects I have taught. For fuck’s sake, you brewed polyjuice in your second year. With stolen ingredients. In a fucking lavatory. With a goddamn ghost breathing down your neck. You took every course on the syllabus using a timeturner your third year. You were the only student who figured out the truth about Lupin—and yes, for the record, I am aware that that was a dick move on my part. You found the time to start an underground Defence club to do that toady bitch’s job when she decided not to, and to top it all off, you managed to do what no one else could seem to accomplish, and you rid the school of her pestilence. You went up against a foul piece of human waste who was, hands-down, one of the most sadistic, vicious Death Eaters ever to exist—and I trust that I do not have to emphasize the fact that those words coming from _my_ lips should mean something to you—and you came out of it alive…as a fifth-year. Then you managed to keep both yourself and those _boys_ alive for _nine months_ on the run, evading Snatchers, infiltrating the Ministry, breaking into Gringotts, and then sneaking back onto campus, all the while hunting down and destroying Horcruxes. I do not think you grasp how completely vital you were to our victory, Miss Granger. Potter would have never seen his twelfth birthday without you. So please believe me when I say that I am going to go to bed and sleep like a baby tonight, with absolutely zero concerns that my apprentice is going to disappoint or fail me in any way, shape, or form tomorrow. And if all else fails, please remember this, although it is not a happy thought: Remus Lupin was your Defence instructor and his NEWT score in Defence was nearly as high as my own, yet still he fell to Antonin Dolohov’s wand. You battled Dolohov and lived to tell the tale. Surely scoring an O on your Defence NEWT is a foregone conclusion then?” He was surprised to see Hermione’s soft eyes filling with tears. “Finish your drink, Miss Granger, and then go to bed,” he finished softly.

She stared at him for a moment, obviously trying to control her tears, then huffed out a laugh as she gave up and the tears spilled down her cheeks. “How on earth am I supposed to even think about sleeping after such lovely words, and from you of all people?” she cried out in a strange laugh-cry hybrid.

He couldn’t help it then; he chuckled in spite of himself and reached out to take her glass, ignoring the spark that raced through his fingers as they touched hers. “Okay, okay,” he said in mock exasperation as he stood up. “One moment,” he tossed back as he disappeared into another room. He left the door open behind him and Hermione could see that it was his bedroom. She pushed down the strange feeling that thrilled through her at that, although she vowed she would examine it more closely once her tests were completed and she had the weekend ahead of her. After a moment, he returned with two phials.

“A mild calming draught,” he explained, handing her the first phial. “Take this one first,” he instructed. She uncorked it immediately and tossed it back. “A very mild sleeping draught,” he said as he handed her the second potion. “Non-addictive. It should be enough, when combined with the calming draught and the whiskey, to get the job done.” She took it from him and stood.

“Thank you, Professor,” she murmured. “For everything,” she said firmly, looking him deep in the eyes and willing him to understand. She felt what seemed like the faintest brush against her thoughts, and then it was gone. Had he…? She couldn’t be sure, it was so light, and so brief, but it seemed like he’d been there, for just a moment.

She turned away before she could give him the opportunity to see what a heady thought it was, having him in her mind.

OoOoO

“Miss Granger,” sighed Severus Snape, “it is Friday afternoon and you have just finished an exceptionally difficult week of NEWTs. You do not have to do my marking for me this afternoon. You should be out celebrating, or, if nothing else, taking a nap.” He smirked as he looked back down at the stack of fifth-year essays he was savaging.

Hermione ignored him and continued settling down at the student workbench across from him and pulling out a stack of second-year tests to mark. “Thank you, sir, but right now I’d really rather just be here.” She bit her tongue just in time to stop herself from finishing that sentence with the exceptionally dangerous words, ‘ _with you_.’

Snape looked up once more, trying to suss her out. “Are you feeling anxious? Because all three of your potions for the practicum were utterly flawless. And well,” he chuckled, “I don’t suppose I need to revisit the Defence practicum, do I?”

She was unable to contain the giggle that escaped. “No, sir,” she said, ducking her head almost shyly. “I’m really sorry…again.”

Her Potions exam and practicum had been that morning and had gone beautifully. After an hour’s break in which she ate a very early lunch, she sat her Defence written exam and then headed up to the Great Hall just as lunch was ending for everyone else. As soon as the Hall was cleared, the tables would be moved and her Defense practicum would commence. This meant, of course, that the student body as a whole was at least vaguely aware of what was happening, and nearly every upper year student with a free period (along with a not-inconsiderable number of the younger pupils) stuck around to watch. Oddly enough, Hermione found that this bolstered her confidence rather than fed her anxiety. Hogwarts instructors, too, were allowed to observe practical exams so long as they did not coach or instruct, and Hermione was gratified to see that, in addition to the headmistress and Potions Master, all of her previous instructors with a free period were there—Sprout, Flitwick, and even Hagrid amongst them.

The invigilator had loved having an audience, and so after having Hermione demonstrate a massive variety of offensive and defensive spells on Auror practice dummies, dispatch a Boggart (for this she requested—and was granted—a shield to be erected around the area so that only she and the invigilator were privy to her Boggart), as well as repeatedly conjure her Patronus at successively faster rates, he asked the Headmistress if faculty members would volunteer to duel with Hermione to give her the opportunity to earn extra points. McGonagall grinned and looked toward dueling legend Flitwick, but before either of them could say a word, the low voice of the Potions Master cut through the room. “I shall duel with Miss Granger.”

Hermione had simply looked at him with a single arched eyebrow, unintentionally mimicking her master, and bowed her head slightly in acceptance. Without bothering to consult with the invigilator, he stepped forward and said clearly, “Normal dueling rules: nothing permanent, no Unforgivables. Fifteen paces, turn and bow. You shall count it off, Miss Granger. First one to disarm his or her opponent is the victor.”

Hermione nodded, turned her back to him, and began counting off the paces.

OoOoO

Eighteen minutes into the duel, Hermione was exhausted. She knew she was sweating, but she took comfort in the fact that the Potions Master was definitely breathing heavily, as well. One side of her face was swollen from where he’d landed a _nice_ stinging hex, and he’d spent a good minute on pure defense as he desperately struggled to counter the bat-bogey hex she’d landed. She had _very_ nearly lost her own concentration when she hit him with it and heard Ginny’s gleeful laughter ring out over the Great Hall. Her amusement over The Look that Snape had shot in Ginny’s direction had very nearly taken the rest of her concentration. Clearly he hadn’t gone _too_ soft in this new, post-war world.

But for the most part, it had been a battle of defenses. She didn’t think she’d ever heard “ _Protego!_ ” shouted so many times before. She had finally decided it was simply going to come down to wits, timing and sheer luck. Seven minutes later, she shot a quick succession of _Stupefy_ (blocked), followed immediately by a _Sectumsempra_ aimed at his wand arm (landed, and dear God he was going to turn her into Potions ingredients for that, wasn’t he?), and finished it off with a quick _Expelliarmus_ while he was still distracted by his bleeding arm. When the smooth ebony wood landed in her palm, she looked at it dumbly, and briefly thought, “ _I’m holding Severus Snape’s wand_ ,” (after which she barely suppressed an unladylike snort), and then looked up at him in shock. He gave her a small smile and a graceful bow of his head in concession before turning his attention back toward his bloody arm. She gasped then and ran straight to him, shoving his wand back into his palm as she whispered, “Sir, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.” Before he could respond, she lifted her wand to his arm and began to sing the healing incantation. “ _Vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur, vulnera sanentur…”_ When she had finished, she inspected her work carefully.

“Very good, Miss Granger,” he whispered right next to her ear, making her jump. She had not realized how close they were.

She heard the invigilator say something along the lines of “Quite impressive, Miss Granger. Quite,” but what neither she nor Snape observed were the narrowed eyes and sly smile upon the face of Minerva McGonagall.

“Miss Granger!” Hermione was jerked back to the present by Snape’s sharp address.

“I’m sorry, sir, my mind was wandering.”

“I can see that,” he said sarcastically. “I said that a) there is no need to apologize yet again. The _Sectumsempra_ was fair, and more than apropos, I must say. And b) I’ve no doubt that the Headmistress would give Miss Weasley permission to accompany you into Hogsmeade this evening if you ladies wanted to meet up with Potter and Weasley to…celebrate.”

Hermione looked inexplicably flustered at that. “Ahhh…that’s very kind of you, Professor, but there will be no celebrating until I receive my scores, and anyway, Harry is too busy with Auror training to break away for pretty much anything right now, and I think Ginny is forcing the team into an additional practice tonight so they’ll be ready for Slytherin next week.” She paused and placed a finger to her lips, pretending to contemplate something. “Hmm,” she drawled. “Kinda makes me wish I’d intentionally flubbed one…Charms, maybe. After all, you weren’t requiring it. Woulda been worth it to see you wearing Luna’s lion head and kissing Godric’s toes,” she said flippantly.

“Negative, Miss Granger,” he countered smoothly. “If you will recall, that offer was good for Potions only.”

She gave him a saucy wink. “Ah, well, can’t blame a girl for trying.”

 _Good gods, what had gotten_ IN _to her?_

Snape raised an eyebrow wordlessly and cast around for a change in subject before he remembered something she had just said that caught his attention.

“A moment ago...I mentioned Potter and Weasley and you only responded in regards to Potter.”

“Mm,” she offered noncommittally, not looking at him.

“And what of you and Mr. Weasley?” It was all he could do not to sneer the name.

“Well,” she drawled, never looking up from her parchment, “around the first of June it dawned on me what people mean when they talk about the difference between being book smart and having common sense.” Her quill continued scratching across the parchment.

Damn it all, Snape found himself unable to resist the bait. “Oh?” he queried.

“Mm-hmm,” she began, almost absently. After a second or two, she stopped, put her quill down, and looked up at him. “He apparently decided that I was being ‘selfish’ spending all of my time researching methods to reverse an Obliviation because it was preventing him from getting his dick between my legs,” she said darkly. “After all, who gives a shit about something as inconsequential as obliviated parents if it means your girlfriend isn’t putting out?” Snape half-choked on his tea before she continued, muttering under her breath, “although, based on what little experience we had, I don’t see how it could have possibly mattered to him, given that he wouldn’t have even gotten all the way _in_ before he’d be done. Selfish no-stamina bastard.” Snape nearly fell off of his stool laughing.

Gods. He could love this woman.

Wait. What?

His startled thoughts were interrupted as she continued, once more focused on the parchment in front of her. “At the risk of providing you with far more information than you asked for, although I’m fairly certain that ship has sailed already, I’ll just say that I wasn’t ready for that, and actually had no desire to _give_ him that, but for some unfathomable reason, I continued to buy into the idea that we were meant to be together. So in an effort to…placate…him, I made…other concessions.” A brief look of disgust and anguish flashed across her face as she quietly added, “I wish I had not.” There was a quick flicker of hurt and she muttered, “Bastard didn’t even give me a courtesy warning and then on top of that, wouldn’t even reciprocate,” before she caught herself and clamped her mouth shut. Her face flushed as she realized all she’d just confessed—and it was obvious by the look on his face that he knew precisely what she meant by “concessions,” “courtesy warning,” and “reciprocate.”

“At any rate,” she mumbled, “I realized right then that for all of my supposed _book smarts,”_ she fairly sneered that last, “I could occasionally be rather lacking in the common sense department. And as far as I’m concerned, it’s unacceptable to be a _dunderhead,_ ” she smirked at him there, “in any aspect of one’s life. So I told the selfish bastard he could go fuck himself, since that was basically all he was capable of doing with any degree of success anyway,” she finished smugly.

He barked out a laugh before he even realized it; certainly, he was a bit shocked that she’d shared so freely with him, but he figured that if she had done so, he could at least give her an honest response.

“Brightest witch of your age, indeed,” he said under his breath before continuing, a bit more loudly—

“Miss Granger,” he said slowly, “such selfish behavior is boorish and vulgar. Any sexual partner who would behave as such is not worth the time or effort, and you made the right decision in showing Mr. Weasley the door. A boy is concerned with his _own_ pleasure. However, a man _worships_ at the body of his lover, ensures her completion before his own, and most importantly, unless it is her choice, he _never_ allows a witch to leave his bed until she is as thoroughly satisfied as she desires to be.” He was almost positive he heard a sharp intake of breath from his apprentice, and he smirked to himself. Let her ponder that, he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask, yes, we will at some point in the future become privy to what, precisely, Hermione's boggart was.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What can I say that we all haven't heard a million times before? Real Life has been overwhelming lately. A bout of the flu running through our family, wrapping up the admissions process for our daughter to attend the private school I've always dreamed of next year, new demands at work, and constantly running off on the weekends for marathons...it's all combined to make it nearly impossible for me to work on this. However, I hope for there NEVER to be such a delay again, although I won't promise because I don't like making promises if I don't know for sure I can keep them. The good news--the next chapter is where things start to really get juicy, and it's basically finished. I hope to have it up within two or three days. As always, please forgive me and I hope you enjoy.

** Friday, October 23, 1998  **

Hermione huffed out a sigh and flipped over in her bed for what had to be the seven thousandth time that night. She was starting to feel like a pig on a spit.

Sleep eluded her.

She felt reasonably confident about her NEWTs, so her anxiety was low on that front—although she still felt a bit guilty about the _Sectumsempra_ she’d hurled at Professor Snape to outduel him…and what the _fuck_ was up with that Boggart? When it had emerged, she had very nearly collapsed to the floor in terror, and it was only afterward that it occurred to her to thank Merlin that she’d demanded a privacy screen for that part of the exercise. It had been quite awhile since she had faced a Boggart, and her fears had most decidedly evolved; still, despite having a few ideas, she did not know for sure what form her Boggart would take, and she didn’t care to have an audience when she found out. She would have run all the way to Hogsmeade and then taken up a Kneazle-filled spinster’s existence on the top floor of Grimmauld Place if anyone had witnessed that. Bad enough that the invigilator saw it.

No, it wasn’t the tests that were bothering her.

Earlier that evening, her master had confirmed with two sentences what she had suspected for years: Severus Snape was a bloody pillar of sensuality and sexuality. A smug smirk took hold as she reveled in the satisfaction of once again being right. The female student opinion (those of the upper years, at least, once they began to discover their own sexuality) with regard to Severus Snape had always been fairly evenly split. About half thought he was the foul, ugly, asexual git he portrayed—hell, he was probably a virgin! (They did, however, concede the appeal of his voice). This opinion was prevalent amongst Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. The remaining female students who cared to voice an opinion (generally Ravenclaws and Slytherins) viewed him as a dark genius with a powerful and seductive aura. She recalled the time Luna had dreamily opined, “Oh, yes, I would imagine that Professor Snape is a magnificent lover.” At the time, the statement had rendered Hermione speechless, both with shock at Luna’s bold words and the realization that she found the assessment completely plausible. After that, she’d never looked at him in quite the same way.

 _‘A boy is concerned with his_ own _pleasure. However, a man_ worships _at the body of his lover, ensures her completion before his own, and most importantly, unless it is her choice, he never allows a witch to leave his bed until she is as thoroughly satisfied as she desires to be.’_

The words alone were eroticism itself. But wrapped in the sinful silk of _that voice_ …Merlin’s hairy left nut, she mentally high-fived herself for not grinding one out on the stool right in front of him.

Was it possible? Could he…?

Half of her head and heart said, _‘No way. Never. He has always hated you—that doesn’t just flip overnight.’_

The other half rolled their eyes in exasperation and invoked The Title: _‘Brightest witch of your age, huh? Then ignore insecurities and just_ observe _, girl. He_ wants _you. The way a man wants a woman.’_

Hermione groaned in pleasure, frustration, agony, and insecurity, finally giving in to her physical need as she slipped a hand gently between her legs.

The time had finally come when she had to acknowledge the terrifying truth: she was falling for a man who was once (and possibly still) in love with her best friend’s long-dead mother. Oh, and he was also her master and she his apprentice.

_Fuck._

OoOoO

Hermione managed to greet Professor Snape with a completely normal voice while wearing a totally neutral expression when she slipped into her seat next to him at the Head Table for breakfast the next morning. She was mentally patting herself on the back and feeling a tad smug about it as Professor Snape asked her about her plans for Hogsmeade that day when the morning post owls began swooping in. To her surprise, two letters slapped down directly in front of her as she was in mid-reply to the professor’s question. She recognized both sets of handwriting immediately and looked up at Professor Snape with what was clearly a look of trepidation. The look of disdain he flashed at the letters told her that he had clearly recognized the handwriting, as well.

He watched with no small annoyance as she sighed and her shoulders slumped ever-so-slightly. He still wasn’t 100% convinced that the little Weasley shit didn’t need cursing, but he wasn’t going to interfere at this point. Not yet.

He observed silently as Hermione reached for the letter from Potter first. She unrolled it and skimmed the three or four sentences contained within before dropping her head and muttering, “ _Shit_ ,” under her breath. Before he could ask, she thrust the parchment at him without looking.

He took it from her and glanced down.

_‘I’m sorry, Hermione. I couldn’t stop him. I tried—he wouldn’t listen to reason and he couldn’t be talked out of it. I’ll understand whatever you want to do. Love, Harry”_

He looked up at her; she had just broken the seal on the second parchment, and if he had not loathed the Weasley boy so completely, he might have been tempted to laugh at the expression on her face. Her visage seemingly warred between horrified and apoplectic. A small smirk _did_ escape him as she approached the end of the letter and he noted that a small muscle along her jawline was twitching ominously; apoplectic was now clearly winning the morning’s Battle of Emotions.

 _“Fucking **wankstain** ,”_ she hissed furiously.

Snape quirked one side of his mouth up at that and leaned a bit closer. “Hmm, according to you, Miss Granger, the ‘ _fucking_ ’ part? No. The ‘ _wankstain_ ’? Accurate. But again, that’s just according to you,” he smirked, barely containing the grin that threatened to escape when her laughter rang out, chasing away the anger on her face. “May I?” he drawled, holding a hand out casually, a twinkle in his eye, if not on his lips.

Hermione snorted and handed him the letter. “Save me the trouble and vanish it when you’re through,” she said as she pushed her chair back and stood. “Might as well obliviate me, too, while you’re at it, if you’re feeling a little wild and crazy.” He looked up in surprise as she left the table, slowing only long enough to toss back over her shoulder, “and never mind about my plans for Hogsmeade today. I believe I’ll be staying in the castle.” A dark, resentful look passed over her features and Snape narrowed his eyes briefly before reading the letter, his eyes rolling immediately at the term of address that Hermione loathed. Good god, if  _HE_  was observant enough to be aware of her disdain for that appellation, how could Ronald Weasley somehow _not_ be?

_‘Dear Mione,_

_Great news! The auror training schedule has finally let up a bit, and I decided to come with Harry this weekend to Hogsmeade. Of course, he just wants to snog my bloody sister, but I’m hoping I can find something to distract me from that. *winkwink* I know you’ve had to time to calm down and rethink your decision from the summer, and I hope you know that I forgive you—we were all grieving and acting crazy in the aftermath of the war. I know being at Hogwarts again has grounded you, and we can pick back up where we left off. Harry’s meeting Ginny at the Three Broomsticks at 11:30, so I’ll see you there, as well. Maybe we could even get a room?_

_Love,_

_Ron’_

Severus Snape snorted as he folded up the letter and stuffed it into his robes. A very black, very anticipatory look stole across his face as he stood authoritatively and swept out of the Great Hall in pursuit of Miss Granger. She deserved a bit of fun, and well, if he happened to enjoy it vicariously, what the hell was wrong with that?

“Miss Granger!” he called as he emerged into the entrance hall. Hermione, already two steps down toward the dungeons, turned around, her eyebrows raised in question. Snape caught up to her and gave her a sly wink as he handed her the letter back. “You’re not really going to let that—how did you put it?—ah, yes, _wankstain_ , dictate your actions and therefore ruin your fun on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, are you?” He affected a look of disappointment. “Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger, I thought better of you.” He winked, making it clear that he was not serious.

Hermione grinned wearily at him. “I just don’t know if I can deal with him today, Professor,” she said with a sigh. “I certainly don’t mean to let him dictate my actions, but frankly, it just somehow feels…easier to stay here in the castle and avoid the whole thing. He’s so damn…oblivious.” She shrugged helplessly.

“Miss Granger…it has been over two months since you have seen Mr. Potter and I know you are anxious to see him and catch up. Let me offer you an option, so to speak. It is, as you know, my weekend to chaperone the Hogsmeade visit with Septima. I usually make a quick stop into Scrivenshaft’s and then spend the remainder of the day at the Three Broomsticks with Septima and Rosmerta—they were both fellow Slytherins in my year, and we always enjoy the chance to catch up. If you would like, I can arrange to be at the Three Broomsticks when the four of you are slated to meet, and if things deteriorate beyond your ability to tolerate or deal with, just shoot me a glance and I’ll come “rescue” you, so to speak,” he said using air quotes. “I think we all know at this point that I have no problem being the bad guy,”—at this, she snorted—“so if that arrangement works for you, you and Ginevra can see Potter as planned while avoiding too much confrontation with Weasley.”

Snape’s use of Ginny’s given name did not escape Hermione’s notice. She suspected that his disdain for Ron ran so deep that he did not want to lump Ginny in with him by using her surname. Hermione raised an eyebrow at this and allowed a slow, sly grin to spread over her face. “Very well, sir,” she grinned. “And thank you. I find your proposal to be…acceptable,” she drawled, and then winked at him in amusement at her imitation.

“Cheeky witch,” he grumbled with the faintest hint of a smile.

OoOoO

At 10 am, they set out, Hermione bringing up the rear of the Hogsmeade crowd as Severus and Septima led the charge. When they reached the village, Snape turned to begin his usual stern issuing of rules, directives, and the meeting time and point; however, as he reached the end of the usual speech and the students began to disperse, he cleared his throat, loudly, once. All movement ceased.

“Headmistress McGonagall has instructed me to inform all 7th years, 8th years, and apprentices that any guests they may be meeting in Hogsmeade today are invited back to the castle for dinner this evening.”

He looked at Hermione with a single eyebrow raised in resignation as the students to which the directive applied cheered happily. Hermione rolled her eyes heavenward, well aware that Ginny could invite her brother back to the castle regardless of what Hermione wished to do.

Huffing out a frustrated sigh, Hermione turned toward Scrivenshaft’s to take care of what she needed before the scheduled meeting at the Three Broomsticks.

OoOoO

Hermione opened the door to Scrivenshaft’s and stepped inside, breathing in deeply, letting the smell of ink and parchment ground her. Nodding once to herself—‘ _you can do this, Hermione, just chill the hell out_ ’—she stepped inside and headed to the aisle containing the ink she needed.

A few moments later, a deep voice spoke up behind her. “I’m sorry I was unable to give you a heads up, Miss Granger—Minerva caught me just as I was leaving the castle. I know this…complicates things for you.”

She turned and gave him a brief, rueful smile.

He tried again. “I don’t suppose there is any chance that Ginevra will invite Mr. Potter and neglect to issue an invitation to Weasley?”

Hermione snorted. “Not bloody likely, I’m afraid.” She gave a pained grimace, then attempted a smile. “Look on the bright side—at least he can’t sit at the head table with us.” She reached out and lightly placed her hand on his arm when she said this, and Severus employed all of his willpower to neither jerk away from her touch nor grin like an idiot.

‘ _Us._ ’

OoOoO

Hermione took a deep, steadying breath and pulled open the door to the Three Broomsticks. She had caught Severus’ eyes as he and Septima had entered the establishment five minutes earlier. She could do this. She was ready. And if she couldn’t? Well…Severus would be there to bail her out.

She spotted Ginny, Harry, and Ron in a corner booth not too far from the bar as soon as she entered. By the looks of them, they’d only just sat down. She joined them with a large smile, reaching out to embrace Harry enthusiastically and Ron…quite a bit less enthusiastically.

Over at the bar, Septima Vector was watching Severus Snape like a hawk as Severus’ eyes burned a hole into Weasley’s back. She made eye contact with Rosmerta, who raised a single eyebrow, indicating that she had noticed, as well. “Sev?” Septima asked in a low voice, touching his arm lightly to get his attention.

Severus snapped his head around and looked at Vector, feeling caught out. “Hmm?” he asked in a bored tone. Septima gave him a withering look.

“Severus Snape, I’ve known you since we were eleven years old, so take your bullshit somewhere else, if you please.” Her eyes flickered back to the table of young wizards and witches. She gave a quick tip of her head in their direction and leveled her gaze into his eyes as she queried gently, “What’s the deal there, Sev, hmm?”

Severus Snape sighed inwardly, knowing it was useless. Septima Vector had always been exceptionally kind, but extremely shrewd, and there was little he could hide from her. In fact, it was a topic that they had never dared broach, but he strongly suspected that Septima knew all along _precisely_ the role he played in the war. She had never said a word to him about it—either before or afterwards—but there were times, particularly in that unspeakably wretched final year when he was Headmaster, that he would catch her looking at him in a way that made him feel thoroughly exposed. And always, always, there was a tinge of sadness in that look. Never suspicion, never loathing—just sadness. There was something about her that he had always trusted implicitly, and he was never once worried that she would give voice to her suspicions about his true role. She would never know what that meant to him in those dark days—the mere _idea_ that there might be a single person who understood what he was going through.

These thoughts ran through Severus’ head in a mere second before Septima spoke again in a quiet and gentle voice. “Do you have feelings for her, Severus?”

“I—“ His mouth opened before he had a clue what he was going to say, and he immediately snapped it shut again.

Rosmerta spoke up then. She had never possessed the innate shrewdness of her housemate and friend Septima, but years spent behind the bar listening to tales of woe had honed her people skills until they were finely tuned. “Severus,” she said in a low voice, “I’ve been watching you since she walked in, and you’ve barely taken your eyes off of her. What’s more is that she’s barely taken her eyes off of you, _and_ she looks like her skin is crawling every time that boy comes near her. She’s no longer a student, is she?” Rosmerta looked to Septima for confirmation, but Severus answered first.

“Not exactly. She is taking…an alternate route. She returned to school and pursued independent study to sit her NEWTs early, which she just did this past week. Her results should be in this coming week. Assuming she passed them all, which she no doubt has, she will be apprenticed to me in Potions for her Mastery.”

Rosmerta snorted. “Well, I think we all know there’s no taboo there. Masters and apprentices have a long and storied history of shagging each other rotten, hmm?” she said lasciviously, poking him in the arm playfully.

Snape gave her his best withering glare, and Rosmerta rolled her eyes. “Really? After nearly 30 years, you think that shit scares me?” She snorted again and sauntered down to the other end of the bar to tend to other customers.

Septima spoke up again, this time without making eye contact. “Severus,” she said, her voice barely audible, “you’re a good man. A very good man. You deserve something good in your life. And you’re a brave man—the bravest I’ve known. I know that matters of the heart can sometimes require even more courage than matters of war, but please don’t let that stop you.” She leaned in and lowered her voice even more. “I see how she looks at you, my friend. Don’t be afraid.”

At that very moment, they both watched as Ron began to slide his hand up Hermione’s thigh and under her skirt as he bent toward her ear and whispered something. Hermione’s face jerked up, irate, and looked from Ron to Severus involuntarily, her visage at once livid and helpless.

Severus Snape instantaneously rose from his seat and strode silently toward their table.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay. We had a death in the family this week, and the arrangements, services, etc, were quite time-consuming. Also, I did have to cut this chapter off before I had intended--it was the only way it was going to get posted today, which was my absolute latest self-imposed deadline.

_Severus Snape instantaneously rose from his seat and strode silently toward their table._

 

 

He reached the table and stood behind Ron just as Hermione was shoving his hand roughly away.

“ _The FUCK do you think you’re doing, Ron?”_ she hissed furiously. Before he could answer, Severus spoke up, making Ron jump.

“Indeed, Hermione, I was just wondering that myself.”

She smirked at him and followed his lead with the use of first names.

“Oh! Severus!” she said, feigning surprise. “Ronald here was just demonstrating his lack of understanding of the concept of a breakup, and I was just attempting to rectify that gap in his knowledge.” A dark look passed over her face. “Seems to be a lost cause, though.”

Ron’s eyes bulged at the expression of familiarity between Hermione and Severus, but before he could get a word out, Severus dug in.

“Mister Weasley,” he said, his voice ice cold, “given how low my previous opinion of you was, one would think it truly impossible, but somehow… _you have managed to disappoint me_ ,” he hissed quietly. “Everyone around you—your peers—“ at this, he nodded respectfully toward Harry and Hermione—“as well as your siblings—“ here, he inclined his head with a small smile toward Ginny—“has managed to break free of the shackles of childhood and mature into young adults that can do Hogwarts proud—both as students and alumni.” He gave a tiny smile in acknowledgement of the huge grins that Harry and Ginny were sporting. “But you, Mr. Weasley…you have remained as petulant, juvenile, selfish, and _vulgar_ as ever.” Now, he leaned in so that he was right in Ron’s face, fury evident in his features. “Ronald Weasley, let me be the first to remind you that your father is one of the most honorable wizards I have ever had the privilege to know and your mother is possibly the most selfless and nurturing witch I’ve ever come across. _Now exactly what do you think they would have to say about you shamelessly groping Miss Granger as if the brightest witch of your generation was simply a piece of meat?_ ” He sneered in the face of Ronald’s blanching visage. “You disgust me, Mr. Weasley, and let me make it clear, you have never been, nor will you ever be, worthy of a witch such as Miss Granger, and in the meantime, you are making a fool of yourself. I suggest you remove yourself immediately before you do any more damage to your parents’ good names.”  

Ron gaped at him for a moment, and then seemed to gather his courage. “What the fuck are you on about, Snape?” he blustered, blue eyes flashing. “Apparently you’re too stupid to notice, you greasy git, but I don’t have to answer to you any longer.” He sat back on his stool, looking smug as he challenged his former professor. So full of himself was he that he failed to see the resigned looks of horror directed his way, courtesy of his sister and best friend.

Snape took brief notice of those two, but it was the look of disdain and disgust on Hermione’s face that gave him the nerve to continue on the course he’d already set.

“Apparently, _you’re_ too stupid to notice, you imbecilic ginger-haired prick, but the woman you were attempting to manhandle is _my_ apprentice, so therefore, yes, you DO have to answer to me. I will not have the reputation of my apprentice smeared by the sweaty-palmed fumblings of a…how did she put it?—oh, yes—I believe it was ‘selfish, no-stamina bastard.’” _Gods, let her forgive me for that._

His worries were quickly assuaged by the look of amusement and satisfaction dancing in her eyes, and further placated by the apoplectic look on Weasley’s face.

“Wh— _what did you just say to me_?!?” Weasley spluttered.

Snape glanced at Hermione, and upon seeing the tiniest hint of a smug grin on her face, he threw caution to the wind.

“I believe, Mr. Weasley, that I called you a selfish, no-stamina bastard. I can’t claim to have any personal experience with that; however, I do know someone who does, and in my experience, her word is unimpeachable. Since you are finding it appropriate to throw a temper tantrum about it, I’ll go ahead and add in some valuable life advice for free—demanding sexual favors without reciprocity is in terrible form, as is pawing at the most accomplished witch since Minerva McGonagall in a public place like a fucking third year about to cream his pants.”

Ron’s face was deathly white, and he looked as if he was waffling between losing consciousness and spontaneously combusting. After a moment, he managed to speak, and Hermione and Severus braced themselves for the outrage he would surely spew forth at realizing that Hermione had divulged intimate details to Snape. Neither of them were prepared, however, for what actually came out of his mouth.

“Did you just call him Severus?!?”

There was a beat of silence, and then Hermione began to laugh hysterically, not believing what she’d just heard—that Ron would be more concerned with the fact that she had used Severus’ first name than he was with the fact that she’d evidently shared details of their non-existent sex life. She glanced up at Severus and her eyes sparkled with amusement over the blank look of disbelief on his face.

“…my gods, Weasley. All of that, and all you managed to take away from it is that Hermione and I are on a first name basis? I suggest you cease speaking at once, because each time I think my opinion of your mental capacity could not possibly be lower, you perform a minor miracle and prove me wrong. I’m very nearly tempted to award points to Gryffindor based on the mere fact that a simple-minded idiot such as yourself has actually _managed_ to prove me wrong…about _anything._ As it is…twenty points to Gryffindor, Ginevra, for the fact that you have lived seventeen years with this imbecile breathing down your neck without availing yourself of the killing curse in the process. Now, Hermione, may I speak to you for a moment about the potion you currently have in stasis?”

There was no such potion currently in stasis, but Hermione recognized it for what it was—Severus providing her with the out he had previously offered. “Yes, Master Snape,” she acquiesced formally, rising from her seat.

Severus watched in utter disbelief as Ron reached out and grabbed her wrist before she could step away from the table. “But ‘Mione,” he said, his voice devolving into a whinge, “I thought we were going to get a room…”

Severus watched Hermione’s jaw drop in shock that he could remain so utterly clueless, and he turned to the wooden post near his shoulder and thudded his head against it, hard—once, twice, three times. He turned back to stare at Ron, then looked at Hermione before turning away once more, putting his hands up in a gesture of defeat as he simultaneously sent a wordless, wandless stinging jinx at the pale hand that was still gripping Hermione’s wrist. He laughed loudly and viciously as he heard Ron curse whilst releasing the arm in his grasp. He continued walking back toward the bar, but listened carefully as he heard Hermione’s voice, hard and cold, ring out behind him.

“Ronald, I never wanted to hurt you. Trust me on that. It’s the only reason I’ve been as patient as I have. But your patently ridiculous letter, followed by the display you just put on leaves me no choice. It. Is. Over. We are done. I hope you can find _someone_ who will allow you to get a leg over, but let me assure you, it’s not going to be me. Ever. I hope you didn’t pay in advance for that room. Goodbye.”

OoOoO

Hermione fell into step beside Severus as she stalked away from her ex, and Severus stepped to the bar and put down enough galleons to cover both his and Septima’s drinks. He gave her a quick nod and raised a playful eyebrow at her knowing smirk, then fell back in next to Hermione as they headed toward the exit. Just as they reached the door, Severus very nearly stumbled when Hermione quietly uttered, “God _damn_ , Severus, that may be the sexiest thing a man has ever done for me.” She winked at the look on his face and said, “Come on. You deserve chocolate for that performance. Let’s go to Honeyduke’s. I’m buying.”

OoOoO

Dinner in the Great Hall that evening was awkward but bearable, as—just as she had pointed out earlier—Hermione was indeed sat at the Head Table with her Master, as opposed to sitting at the Gryffindor table with Harry, Ginny, and Ron. The glares that Ron was levelling her way irritated her at first, but soon became a source of amusement as she and Severus fell into a little game in which they would each try to predict how long it would be until the next dirty look came their way, and then guess whether said look was directed at Severus, Hermione, or both.

This small but entertaining distraction kept them occupied until just before dessert, when a sudden flapping movement high above their heads caught Hermione’s eye. She nudged Severus in surprise, and he followed her gaze up. “Not exactly standard procedure to have post-delivery at night, is it?” she asked. But before he could answer, her eyes widened as the owl swooped directly toward her. She recognized it as a Ministry owl just as it released its payload from its sharp talons. Hermione deftly caught the envelope before it landed in her tea. She turned it over and her eyes widened as she heard Snape’s sharp intake of breath.

Simultaneously they spoke.

_“My NEWT results.”_

_“Your NEWT results.”_

She turned her large brown eyes up to him, fear evident on her face. “I—“ she hesitated. “I don’t think I can. It’s too soon.” Her eyes were pleading with him—for what, he did not know.

He gave her the most encouraging smile that he could. “It _is_ soon,” he agreed. “But perhaps that is because this was a specially scheduled NEWT session and yours were the only exams to grade. So open them,” he encouraged. By this time, the whole of the Head Table was watching her, and the majority of the students, as well.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and bit down on her bottom lip, then, just as suddenly, opened them once more with a look of fierce determination. She ripped into the envelope and slipped out a single piece of paper. Severus watched as her eyes scanned quickly through it and then stilled. He waited for a reaction, but none was forthcoming. She simply continued staring at the paper in her hands.

“Hermione?” He would never admit it, but she was making him nervous. There was no WAY she hadn’t passed something. Absolutely none.

“Hermione!” she said, more firmly. Silently, she passed him the paper, her eyes never moving.

He grabbed it and scanned eagerly.

_The Ministry of Magic_

_Department of Testing and Wizarding Certifications_

_24 October 1998_

_Miss Hermione Jean Granger_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Miss Granger,_

_Enclosed you will find the results of your recent NEWT exams. Please make arrangements with your intended Master to complete the final apprenticeship paperwork at your earliest convenience, but no later than one week from receipt of this letter. Congratulations and we are ever in your service._

_**Ancient Runes: OUTSTANDING**  _

**_Arithmancy: OUTSTANDING_ **

**_Charms: OUTSTANDING_ **

**_Defence Against the Dark Arts: OUTSTANDING_ **

**_Herbology: OUTSTANDING_ **

**_*Potions:_ ** _**OUTSTANDING**_

**_Transfiguration: OUTSTANDING_ **

****

**_*Indicates intended field of mastery_ **

****

Severus looked up at Hermione, a satisfied quirk of his lips and a single raised eyebrow saying volumes to her that his words could not. Before she could even consider the impropriety of her actions, she let out the tiniest of shrieks and threw her arms around him with unmitigated joy. She felt him return the slightest of squeezes before she gasped and drew back, covering her mouth with an embarrassed giggle and glancing at the headmistress in trepidation, fearing rebuke. Before she could apologize, an irate voice rang out across the Great Hall.

“Whoa, hold on! **_Is she fucking him?!?_**”

Hermione froze in absolute mortification as the Hall went deathly silent over Ron’s outraged exclamation. Snape looked at her long enough to see the tears forming in her eyes, and he caught Minerva’s arm as the Headmistress rose to deal with Weasley’s outburst. “No, Minerva,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I will handle this.”

He leaned close to Hermione, who was still as good as petrified in place, and without looking at her, he murmured in the quietest and most soothing of voices, “Leave through the staff door behind us and go immediately to my office. I will meet you there in ten minutes.” He punctuated this with a tiny squeeze of his hand on her thigh. He waited to see her swallow hard and give a barely perceptible nod before swiping her napkin across her lips and rising gracefully from her chair. Just as she reached the staff door, he stood and his deep baritone carried across the silent Hall. He had decided that in terms of public humiliation, turnabout was fair play.

“Mr. Weasley, you will meet me in the entrance hall immediately. And in light of our conversation earlier today, may I remind you that you are currently a guest on these grounds, and as I am the deputy headmaster, you most certainly… _do_ …answer to me this evening, Mr. Weasley.” He watched with no small satisfaction as Ron’s face first paled in fear, then reddened in embarrassment. He looked to Harry and Ginny as if searching for support, and was shocked at what he saw.

Ginny’s face was livid enough to scare him into looking away, and when he looked at Harry, he had to look up, as Harry was on his feet and grabbing him by the armpit to haul him up. By this time, Severus had stalked through the Great Hall between tables until he was nearly even with them, and Harry began pulling Ron toward the doors. With his height and long strides, Severus got there first and strode into the entrance hall without so much as pausing. Harry followed with Ron and kicked the doors to the Great Hall shut behind them before shoving Ron at Severus with great force.

“You bloody _ARSEHOLE_!” he yelled, vitriol pouring from his voice. “What is _wrong_ with you?” He ran a hand through his messy locks and took a breath before continuing, his voice trembling with rage. “Even putting aside the past seven years of friendship, Ron, she KEPT US ALIVE! You know as well as I do that neither of us would be standing here today if it wasn’t for Hermione and you owe her better than this for that reason alone. You need to get your shit together, Ron.” He gave Ron one final look of fierce hatred before turning to Snape and snarling, “He’s all yours, Professor, and frankly, I don’t give a shit what you do with him.” He paused long enough to give a respectful nod to the professor before turning on his heel and re-entering the Great Hall.

Ron turned toward Severus and had the decency to look wide-eyed and cowed as Severus began prowling slowly toward him. As he drew within a few feet, Ron began backing up…all the way to the wall. When he could retreat no further, Severus closed the distance between them.

His voice was low and predatory as he began the evisceration. And since Ron was no longer a Hogwarts student, Severus didn’t hold back.

“You worthless piece of shit,” he growled. “Do you have any idea what you just ruined?”

Ron was too terrified to answer, so Severus continued. “Those were her NEWT scores. That witch just scored not one, not two, not three, four, five, or six, but SEVEN, Weasley…SEVEN fucking NEWTS. Seven fucking NEWTS and every. single. one. of them. outstanding. The moment she has worked her ass off for over seven years to experience, and she shows some pure joy—after _everything she has been through and has done for so many, including you and myself—_ and you singlehandedly ruin it by screaming across the entire Great Hall your speculation as to whom she may or may not be _fucking_?” By this point Severus had Ron’s shirt fisted in both hands and was shaking him firmly but not violently. Abruptly, Severus released him. “I will be owling your parents in the morning. I guess we’ll have to see if my owl beats the howler that Minerva will no doubt send post-haste.” He smirked. “As for you, I’m going to be generous and leave you in one piece, if only because I don’t fancy pulling bats from my nose for the next fortnight. But you will exit the grounds immediately and I am banning you for the rest of this academic year. If you violate that ban, I will notify the Auror Office at once, and we’ll just see what that does for your career. Now _get. out._ ”

Ron stared, wide-eyed, and immediately exited the massive entrance doors to the castle. He had not spoken a word through the entire incident.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is where shit gets real. Promise. It's already 90% written, so trust me. :)


	8. Chapter 8

Severus braced himself against the door to his office and took a few deep breaths. Pissed-off Severus was not what Hermione needed right now. He knew she was mortified beyond belief at Ron’s outburst, and he further knew that she would be blaming herself for it, due to her impromptu hug at the Head Table.

One last deep breath and he pushed open his office door. Hermione was there, curled up on the loveseat in the corner, and the vulnerability and aching sadness that radiated from her broke his heart. He could see dried tear tracks on her face, although she was no longer actively crying. She did not look at him.

He inhaled deeply once more, his breath hitching, and crossed the room to kneel in front of her.

Before he could speak, she looked to him and her face began to crumple once more. “I’m so sorry, Professor,” she whispered. “I _threw_ myself at you like a bloody slag, and right in front of the entire Hall! It was completely inappropriate and I apologize. Can you ever forgive me?”

It was all he could do to suppress a snort and an eyeroll, but the earnest way her eyes were boring into his own stilled him. He settled for a soft smile instead. “Miss Granger,” he said soothingly. “You did nothing of the sort and there is nothing to forgive. You were thrilled at your scores and you were embracing a friend, colleague, and mentor. You need not be embarrassed; if it makes a difference to you, _I’m_ not. The only person in this situation that should be feeling humiliated is Ronald Weasley. In fact, Miss Granger, I should be thanking you.” His soft expression twisted into a sly little smirk. “It gave me a great deal of joy to stalk him backwards into a wall, verbally eviscerate him, and then evict him from the Castle grounds.” At this, Hermione managed a tiny giggle. “Now come. I have something for you.” He stood and offered her his hand. She sat up, looked at his hand, and then slowly slipped hers into it before rising. He suppressed a shudder at the tingling sensation that raced through him and he began to lead her into the private lab. He watched with some satisfaction as her expression slowly changed from despair to curiosity as he crossed to the lab bench and picked up a beautiful mahogany box about the size of a large textbook.

He turned and beckoned her over to the bench and began to speak. “Normally, it is customary for a Potions master to bestow a gift upon his apprentice at the time that mastery is achieved. However, I anticipated that you would do exceptionally well on your NEWTs, and after all we have been through these last few years, to say nothing of the fact that I have never taken an apprentice before, I thought a small token was in order. I had been waiting until you received your scores to present it to you, and…I hope you will find it…useful,” he finished, a bit of awkwardness settling in. He placed the box in front of her, and she gasped when she saw the lid. Inlaid was an ornately carved lioness, and beneath her, the letters HJG.

With trembling fingers, Hermione flicked open the latch and gingerly lifted the lid. Her mouth formed a delicate ‘o’ when she saw the contents. It appeared to be a luxurious, top-grade potioneer’s kit. Nestled inside were a mortar and pestle, a glass burette for titration, several leather pouches for ingredients, and a large rolled-up leather pouch. “Sir…” she breathed. “This is extraordinary. You shouldn’t have.” She hadn’t even seen what was in the pouch, but it was already quite clear that this had not been an inexpensive gift.

“Nonsense, Miss Granger,” he replied easily. “We have already discussed the fact that I am quite financially solvent, and you deserve the recognition.” He reached for the pouch and loosed the leather tie. He unrolled it a bit at a time, revealing a selection of stirring rods—glass, copper, gold, silver, ebony—each topped with yet another small, elegant lioness. He unrolled the pouch further, leading to flat crushing blades, a thermometer, a glass eyedropper, and a glass test tube.

“And finally,” he said, “your selection of instruments for cutting, chopping, and dicing.” He unrolled the pouch the rest of the way open and Hermione’s world went white.

She gasped and stumbled backwards, all the way to the wall, her eyes never leaving the unrolled pouch. When she hit the wall her legs buckled and she sank to the floor, not noticing how hard she hit. She was shaking uncontrollably and had begun hyperventilating. Her eyes were wild and her pupils were blown wide with terror. She clutched at her left arm violently.

Snape was at her side, kneeling before her in an instant. He recognized a flashback when he saw one.

“Miss Granger?” he questioned very quietly, trying to bring her back to the present. Gently, oh so gently, he took her chin in his fingers and brought her face up to meet his. He had no intention of using legilimency on her without her express consent; he just wanted to see if he could get her back in the _here and now._ “Look at me, Miss Granger. Focus. Look in my eyes.” Her eyes regained some semblance of sentience, and he knew that she was more or less back with him. “Miss Granger,” he whispered, “please tell me what just happened. What is wrong?” She shook her head wildly and a rogue tear made its treacherous way down her face. She bit back a sob. Severus squeezed her shoulders. He felt lost and impotent to help her. He looked around desperately. Seeing the knives he had rolled out, it clicked. “Was it the knives?” he asked in a low voice, just a hint of dread slipping through. Hermione’s face crumpled once more. “Please tell me,” he whispered in anguish, his voice breaking at the end.

Oddly enough, this seemed to spur her.

She clenched her teeth together and took a deep breath, then opened her tear-filled eyes wide. She steeled herself and then shook her head violently and roughly whispered, “I can’t. I can’t. You have to take it.” With this, she stared him down so thoroughly that he did not have to confirm her intentions. _‘Good girl,’_ he thought to himself approvingly, and in he plunged.

_“Voldemort—“_

_“Harry, no!”_

_Pops everywhere around them._

_Terror._

_Absolute terror._

_Panting. Ron, Harry—Oh, god, they mustn’t know that it’s Harry!_

_Running. Lungs burning._

_So tired. So weak. So hungry._

_RUN RUN RUN_

_No._

_We can’t._

_We’re too weak, too hungry. They’re too strong, too fast._

_Motherfucker._

Snape watched through Hermione’s eyes as she did the math, solved the equation, realized the inevitable, and made her decision. He felt her terrified resignation and anguish as she stopped dead, turned, and fired a stinging jinx straight into Harry’s face.

\-------

Snape then saw the beginning confrontation at Malfoy Manor, and he wanted to vomit when he heard Greyback’s barely-veiled promises of torture and rape (it was at this point that he resolved that it was really too bad that the bastard wolf was already dead; were it not so, Snape decided that he _would_ be the one to kill the motherfucker); he got a reprieve from the madness, then, and was overwhelmed with pride for his godson when Draco did not give them up to Bellatrix. He could see through Hermione’s memories that it was patently clear Draco knew exactly who he was dealing with, and yet… He filed that away for a later time.

The dungeon. Dean, Luna, Ollivander.

_Sheer, unmitigated, raw, heart-stopping terror._

_She’s being pulled out of the dungeon. ALONE._

_She sees Bellatrix and involuntarily voids her bladder in terror._

_Bellatrix shrieks in glee and those in attendance cackle along with her._

_Humiliation._

_Interrogation. It won’t end._

_“I didn’t take anything!” The shriek echoes._

_Crucio._

_Crucio._

_Crucio._

_Again. And again. Forever. Unending._

_She wants to die. She begs Bellatrix to kill her._

_The scene fractures completely from pain and…resignation._

_He can see, through Hermione’s eyes, the silver blade cutting into the creamy, flawless flesh of her left forearm. Her blood—her precious lifeblood—seeping out from the abominable carving. He can hear Bellatrix in her ear, cackling wildly as she slices. He can smell Bella’s atrocious breath, ripe with decay._

_M-U-D-B-L-O-_

_It is here that Hermione blessedly passes out._

He pulled back, staring horrified into her eyes for a long enough moment to register the tears pouring out of them, and then he did something he hadn’t done since the final day of the Tri Wizard tournament when Harry Potter confirmed that the Dark Lord had indeed returned: he wrenched away from her and vomited onto the floor.

OoOoO

He panted, hard, for a moment, and then straightened. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth and vanished the mess he’d made. He mumbled a mouth freshening charm and turned back to Hermione, his eyes widened in horror, and reached silently for her left arm. She looked at him, seeing inexplicably tender anguish and pleading in his expression. Their eyes locked, and she wordlessly placed her left hand into his waiting palm. Without breaking eye contact, he slowly turned her palm face-up and gently—oh, so gently—pushed her sleeve up and then paused. There was fear, shame, and desolation in her gaze. He stayed his hand and as gently as possible—pushed into her mind. “ _May I look?”_ She squeezed her eyes shut, more tears spilling out, nodded once, and turned her head to the side as if she couldn’t bear to see him look at it.

He breathed in a slow breath, gave her a gentle squeeze, and looked down.

In terrible, ugly, crude letters, there it was.

**_MUDBLOOD_ **

It was horrible to see filth such as this marring her exquisite skin, but it was made all the worse by his awareness that as utterly flawless as her skin was, it was her _soul_ that was truly blemish-free. And that made this outward… _cattle brand_ even more of an atrocity. Her sudden fondness for long-sleeved garments, regardless of the weather, suddenly made sense, and he wanted to kick himself for not realizing before. Good gods, he wore long sleeves all year round for the exact same reason!

He closed his eyes and without even considering his position or what he was doing, he breathed, “Oh, Hermione…I didn’t know…” and leaned his forehead down to hers, one hand coming up to grip her neck. Her face crumpled at his gentle gesture and she reached up without thought and gripped onto his forearm as he cradled her head. Unbeknownst to her, she was gripping him directly over his Dark Mark. He felt the shaking of a silent sob and was suddenly compelled to do something he had _never_ done in the presence of a student before, save his godson. Silently, he withdrew his left hand from its place at her neck and he released her scarred arm with his other hand. He lifted his head slightly away from hers, but he did not remove himself from the precariously intimate position he occupied in front of her. She watched as he slowly brought his right hand to his left wrist, his eyes never leaving her own, and then suddenly it dawned on her what he was doing. She watched in fascinated silence as he slowly removed the onyx and emerald cufflink from the sleeve at his left wrist. He gently placed the exquisite cufflink aside, and just as he was reaching to roll his cuff up, she reached out and stayed his hand.

“You don’t have to,” she said softly. She was admittedly very curious about his Dark Mark, but she wanted to respect his privacy as well.

“It’s all right,” he murmured soothingly. “I don’t like to look at it. It is a terrible reminder to me. And with the exception of Draco, I have never allowed a student to see it. But perhaps sharing can do us both some good.” He slowly folded his cuff back once, twice, three times. Hermione watched in fascination as the Dark Mark was revealed. It was quite faded now, with no evidence of the constant redness and irritation that was present when Voldemort lived, but it was still plainly visible against the pale skin of his forearm.

She lifted a hand hesitantly, then thought better of it, and looked up, startled at how close his obsidian eyes were to hers. Her breath caught in her throat at the odd sensation that fluttered through her, and she barely managed to breathe out, “May I?” He responded with the merest of nods, and Hermione ran her fingers over the Mark with the most feather light of touches. She glanced up in time to see his eyes gently close, and before she had time to think it through, she slowly leaned down and brought her lips to the Mark. She heard his gentle intake of breath and looked up at him, wary of his reaction. Her eyes widened as she registered how very close their faces were. Too close. She found herself locked in his gaze, and as it dawned on her that he was slowly leaning toward her, she found that the ability to breathe had suddenly escaped her.

It was with excruciating slowness that he drew his face to hers, and her eyes fluttered closed in the instant before his lips touched her own. The kiss was soft, gentle, chaste even.

For a second.

She dropped the Dark Mark-bearing arm she was holding and placed her hands on either side of his face. When she opened her mouth, he dove, and for the first time ever, she understood what it was for Severus Snape to be unleashed.

He plundered her mouth for a moment, and then he stood suddenly, bringing her with him. His left hand firmly cradled her face and neck, and his right wound around her waist, pulling her tightly into him. She would not have thought it possible to be more breathless or more aroused, but she was forced to reconsider when she felt his rock-hard erection pressing into her belly as he pulled her close. The fact that he showed no hesitation or embarrassment whatsoever only served to heighten her arousal. Gods, she could never be that confident. He began walking backwards, pulling her with him, but he never broke their kiss, and Hermione was only dimly aware that they were exiting the lab and entering their shared “foyer,” as they’d come to call it. She spared a millisecond to be moderately impressed when he removed the hand that was around her waist and waved it at his door, wandlessly and wordlessly dropping his wards. He pulled her inside and the door slammed shut behind them.

Hermione’s heart began pounding when she realized that he was bypassing the sitting room entirely and guiding her into his bedroom. She wasn’t ready for this. Was she? Suddenly she had no idea. All she knew is she wasn’t sure if she was ready to move forward, but she sure as fuck didn’t want him to stop.

The back of her knees hit his bed and the sudden assault on her balance had her sitting involuntarily, breaking the kiss. She and Severus stared at each other, both panting, and very slowly, very deliberately, he reached for her once more. Hermione didn’t stop him. He gripped the hem of her jumper and slowly lifted it over her head, revealing her pale pink lace bra. He swallowed hard and he gazed at her firm, perky tits. Neither large nor small, he thought they were absolutely perfect. He gazed into her eyes and gently pushed her shoulders until she was lying flat on her back. With gentle hands, he reached under her skirt and grasped her knickers at her hips. He looked at her, not moving, and she gave a quick, firm nod. He never broke eye contact as he drew them down her thighs, over her knees, and finally off completely.

Hermione was breathless with anticipation as he stood straight, and she couldn’t help the the yearning look on her face as her eyes slid down and took in the view of the erection straining to break free of his trousers. She was most certainly no expert when it came to cocks, but it was obvious that he put Ron to shame. Her eyes were drawn back up as he reached slowly for her left arm. He cradled it as if it was a precious gift and allowed his lips to ghost across the nightmarish scar. After a moment, he gently placed her arm down and his lips moved to the swell of her breasts, still hidden by her bra. He kissed his way down her cleavage, and trailed his lips down her midriff, lingering for a long moment on Dolohov’s scar.

Hermione suddenly realized his intentions, and she instantly stiffened. Severus drew his head up and looked at her, questions in his eyes. Hermione’s face burned and she couldn’t look him in the eyes. “I’m…” she swallowed, hard. “I’m not at my freshest. I mean, I showered this morning, but...”

Severus graced her with a gentle smile. “Shh, love,” was all he said. He reached for the button and zipper on her skirt, and made quick work of removing it. She was now laid before him, clad in nothing more than her bra.

Hermione struggled not to squirm under his intense gaze. His eyes were bright with lust and he unabashedly stroked one hand across his crotch in appreciation—it was very nearly her undoing. Then, ever so slowly, he sank to his knees at the side of his bed and spread her legs, leaving her wide open before him. He looked at the little pink pussy that he knew was pure and untouched, made note of the exceptionally well-landscaped thatch of hair around it, and practically drooled when he saw that her entrance was positively glistening with her arousal. He let out a cross between a groan and a growl and bent his head down to meet her virgin flesh. His thumbs parted her lips and his tongue darted out and made a gentle swipe from her entrance to her clit. Hermione gasped and then moaned, and it was all he could do to slam down his occlumency shields so he wouldn’t blow his load in his pants like a third year.

She was amazing. She tasted amazing. And truthfully, yes—he had wanted this for so damn long. He moaned as she writhed beneath him, and his chest puffed with pride that _he_ was the first man to do this for her, to make her feel this way. He slipped two fingers inside her, and when he felt how tight she was, he was nearly convinced it was all a mistake. Severus Snape didn’t get to have good things. He certainly didn’t get to _keep_ them. And above all, Severus Snape most assuredly couldn’t be allowed something so untouched, so pure. Could he? Was it possible? Gods, how he wanted her. He listened with satisfaction as she gasped at the intrusion, and he began to curl his fingers to hit her g-spot. His tongue continued its assault on her clit, and it was mere seconds before she began gasping and moaning as she gave herself over to a powerful climax. His already-throbbing cock hardened even more, if possible, at the sounds she made.

He surreptitiously wiped his face on the bed before rising to take her in his arms. As he laid on the bed beside her, he was shocked to see tears running from the corners of her eyes down to the duvet cover.

He gathered her gently to him and shushed her. “Hermione, what’s wrong?” he asked tenderly as he stroked her hair. “Please tell me. Did I presume too much? Gods, Hermione, if you feel that I’ve behaved inappropriately—“ he clamped his mouth shut as she pressed her fingers to his lips.

She took a shuddering breath and swallowed hard, trying to collect herself. Her next words left him reeling.

“I just never had any idea it could be like that, Severus.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have things to say, but I'm exhausted because I've been solo-parenting all weekend. This also means that there is a very high probability that there are typos/errors I haven't caught. If you spot one, please point it out to me. Thanks.:)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll skip the apologies, but let it be known that my guilt over this delay has led to a new policy--from henceforth, I will not be publishing any story until it is fully written and (nearly) fully edited. I do have two stories in the pipeline right now, so hopefully that will mollify anyone who is (understandably) annoyed by my continuous delays.
> 
> I also realize that it is likely that most of you will need to start over to remember what the hell this story is even about. On that note, I'd like to point out that I recently made some (mostly minor) edits to all of the posted chapters. Most of these were corrections of typos/omitted words/etc that I'd somehow missed (I do not use a beta, so all proofreading is my own responsibility); however, you will notice that the number of NEWTs Hermione has taken has been changed from six to seven. It simply made sense to include ancient runes, and I also realized that it would be critical later on in the story, so all chapters have been edited to reflect this. Any mistakes are mine and my own.

_He gathered her gently to him and shushed her. “Hermione, what’s wrong?” he asked tenderly as he stroked her hair. “Please tell me. Did I presume too much? Gods, Hermione, if you feel that I’ve behaved inappropriately—“ he clamped his mouth shut as she pressed her fingers to his lips._

_She took a shuddering breath and swallowed hard, trying to collect herself. Her next words left him reeling._

_“I just never had any idea it could be like that, Severus.”_

As Hermione’s tears slowly dried, Severus resumed kissing her tenderly, and after a moment she pulled away and hesitantly reached for his belt buckle. She bit her lip and lowered her lashes, smiling shyly. Severus placed a firm but gentle hand atop hers, stilling her motions. She looked up in confusion, but he placed a soft finger upon her lips. “Not tonight, Hermione,” he murmured.

He didn’t miss her slightly hurt look as she said, “I only wanted to reciprocate,” and slowly stroked the prominent bulge in his pants.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard at her tender actions. “And I shall be only too eager to accept when the time is right. Trust me,” he drawled with a wry grin, opening his eyes once more. His voice softened again, along with his expression. “But right now, it’s far more important that you experience what it is like to accept the ministrations of a man, freely given, with no expectation of anything in return.” She smiled softly at that, and he scooped his arms beneath her back to move her to the head of the bed and onto one of his thick pillows. He pulled the duvet over her and snuggled in beside her. “Now,” he murmured, “will you do me the honor of staying the night?”

She said nothing in reply, only hummed contentedly and allowed her eyes to drift closed as she burrowed closer into his arms.

OoOoO

Severus awoke early, his mind busy, busy, busy as he tried to settle on one particular emotion on which to focus. There was panic—sweet Salazar, he’d eaten Hermione Granger’s pussy! Then there was satisfaction and arousal—good Godric, he’d eaten Hermione Granger’s pussy! And naturally, as with any red-blooded male, wizard or not, there was a decent amount of pure testosterone-driven pride—hot _damn_ , he’d made that witch come hard. And then, bringing up the rear, was the old familiar self-loathing and doubt—what in the name of Merlin’s saggy left nut had he been thinking, opening himself up like that? She had to have been simply on the rebound, or so upset from Weasley’s outburst that she’d acted out in the only way she knew how, or, hell, for all he knew, she could have been drugged, Imperioused, or Confunded. All of those explanations made more sense in his mind than the outlandish thought that she might actually _want_ him.

‘ _No!_ ’ he mentally shouted at himself. ‘No, Severus, you’re not going to do this to yourself this time.’ The better part of his psyche doubled down in an attempt to talk him off the ledge, as it were. ‘You are a good man and she is a good enough woman to have recognized it. Let go and see what happens.’

Severus squeezed his eyes shut in determination, breathed a deep, cleansing breath, let it out slowly, nodded to himself firmly, and proceeded to carefully extract himself from Hermione’s body after placing a gentle kiss to her shoulder. As quietly as he could, he proceeded through his morning ablutions and was just contemplating whether or not to wake her or leave her a note on a spare bit of parchment when she slowly awakened.

She blinked sleepily up at him and he couldn’t help the soft smile that spread across his face at her innocent sleep-filled expression. “I am going to go put in an appearance at breakfast after I run a quick errand. Feel free to stay here and relax until I return. You may call the kitchens for breakfast if you’d like. No one will expect you in the Great Hall for breakfast this morning, I assure you.”

She gave a slight frown. “Errand?” she questioned.

He smirked. “Tell you later.”

Hermione groaned softly. “I’m not stupid enough to try to stop you, but please go easy on them. It’s not their fault and they’ve always been kind to me. Mostly. _Arthur_ has always been kind to me, at any rate,” she said with a dark look as she thought back to fourth year and the abuse Molly had heaped upon her thanks to Rita Skeeter.

He graced her with the lop-sided grin that did strange things to her insides as of late. “Don’t worry,” he said mildly. “I just want to set straight whatever stories the little miscreant might have spun if Minerva’s inevitable howler hasn’t already done so. I’ll see you soon,” he said, and with no further preamble, spun out of existence, leaving a dumbfounded Hermione in his wake, gaping at his apparent ability to disapparate from his rooms.

OoOoO

Severus popped into being just beyond the boundary of the Burrow’s wards. The once-decimated structure was nearly back to its pre-war state—not that that was saying much. As he passed the wards and drew closer to the house, he could hear Molly’s shrill voice as she shrieked, “Don’t you dare, Ronald! If you even so much as _think_ of leaving this kitchen, you’ll be mucking out the chicken coop for the rest of your life!” Severus smirked with satisfaction as he drew near the kitchen door. He’d take that as a good indicator that Minerva’s howler must have arrived. As he raised his hand to knock at the door, though, he noticed with interest that he was wrong—Minerva’s howler had _not_ , in fact, arrived; on the contrary, Minerva herself was sat at the Weasleys’ kitchen table, looking none too pleased.

At his knock, Molly immediately bustled over to admit him. “Oh, Severus!” she fussed, in classic Molly style. “Come in, come in, have some breakfast—you look a bit peaky this morning.” Did he ever look anything _but,_ according to Molly _?_ , he wondered silently. He hid his affection now, as he always had, but despite her annoying tendencies, the woman had been desperately attempting to put meat on his bones since 1980, and while he’d succumb to the Cruciatus before admitting it, he loved her for it.

Severus nodded his head politely as he stepped inside. “Good morning, Molly, Arthur,” he said, his voice steady and even. “Ronald,” he bit out in harsh greeting to the youngest of the Weasley sons.

Before he could greet Minerva, she addressed him instead. “Ah, Severus, good morning.”

“Good morning, Minerva,” Severus answered with a slight bow of his head. “I see you have beaten me to it, then,” he added with an imperious raise of his eyebrows.

“Indeed,” the headmistress answered, her lips in a hard line. “How _is_ Miss Granger this morning?” she asked pointedly, fixing Ronald with a venomous glare.

Severus allowed himself a quick flashback to how he had left the aforementioned Miss Granger—naked and in his bed—and managed to keep the smirk off his face as he pictured Minerva’s likely reaction to _that._ Instead he answered, “She was understandably…distraught…last night, although her mood was much improved after I informed her that I had removed Mr. Weasley from the grounds and had also taken the liberty of banning him from the campus for the remainder of the school year.” He sneered this last, glaring daggers at Ron. “I spoke to her just before I left to come here,” he continued, as Slytherin as ever, “and she was feeling much more…content. In fact, she was anxious to get back down to business.” Let them draw their own conclusions regarding just what that business was.

Minerva murmured, “Good,” in response, but it was Molly’s next words that really got his attention.

“So are either of you going to tell us what happened?”

Severus frowned and nodded his head in Minerva’s direction. “She didn’t tell you?”

“No,” Molly answered, glaring in her son’s direction. “Minerva just showed up and said she needed to discuss with us an incident—that Ron had had dinner in the Great Hall last night and yelled out something obscene regarding Hermione and was removed from the grounds.” By the time she had finished speaking, her eyes had narrowed into slits and her voice was dangerous. If Severus hadn’t been enjoying it so much, he might have been intimidated. The Weasley matriarch was nurturing and kind, but cross her and you’d find out exactly how formidable a witch she really was. Bellatrix Lestrange could attest to that. Except for how she couldn’t, being dead by Molly’s wand and all.

Minerva had her “extremely pissed-off Headmistress” look firmly affixed, and she nodded toward Severus.

“Severus, why don’t you relate the story? I’m not quite comfortable using…that kind of language,” she said pointedly.

Severus suppressed a smirk and drawled, “Why, of course, Minerva. It would be my… _pleasure,_ ” he intoned threateningly, fixing Ron in his most intimidating gaze. Ron closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

“Perhaps I shall start from the beginning,” –at this, Ron’s head jerked up—“when Mr. Weasley was attempting to grope Miss Granger to death at the Three Broomsticks yesterday.” He did not miss the dark look that Arthur directed at his youngest son. “Miss Granger ended her relationship with Mr. Weasley over the summer, as you know. She had shared with me some of her reasons for doing so—“    –at this, Ron shot him a look that was nothing short of murderous—“and she was most distressed to receive an owl from him at breakfast yesterday morning, indicating that he was coming for the Hogsmeade weekend. This letter expressed his rather ignorant assumption that she had reconsidered her previous decision, and he even went so far as to offer his ‘forgiveness,’” he sneered. “He then had the audacity to wrap it up with the assumption that she would be happy to meet him at the Three Broomsticks for lunch as if it was a foregone conclusion. He included as his _coup de grace_ the shameful suggestion that they get a room at the Three Broomsticks after lunch,” (at this Molly gasped in horror and Severus turned his full glare upon Ron), “ _as if Miss Granger was some common tawdry whore in an hourly rate inn.”_

“ _RONALD!!!_ ” Molly shrieked, and Severus winced. He imagined that nearby dogs were on high alert.

“Naturally,” he continued smoothly, “Miss Granger was extremely unhappy at this development. She had been very much looking forward to a Hogsmeade outing with Mr. Potter and young Miss Weasley. After reading the letter, she left the breakfast table, informing me that she would not be accompanying us to Hogsmeade, after all. I picked up the letter after she left, as she had left it behind, and after reading it,’ –here he shot Ron a sharp glance, as if daring him to say something about it—“I intercepted Miss Granger and offered to serve as a ‘lookout’ of sorts during the lunch meeting so she could see Mr. Potter as planned. It was decided that if Mr. Weasley became too forward or would not take ‘no’ for an answer, I would ‘rescue’ her, so to speak, to prevent her from having to be harsher than she wanted to be. Needless to say, in no time at all he had his hand halfway up her skirt.” He paused and sipped at the tea Molly had placed before him as he savored the reactions around him. Weasley looked terrified, Molly appeared to be murderous, and he was particularly enjoying the cold look of fury that Minerva was bestowing upon her former cub. But to his surprise, the most frightening look in the room was the one that Arthur was giving his youngest son, and it was this to which Ronald was reacting. Arthur’s face was cold, but held an almost palpable sense of disapproval and disappointment. However, it was the vague aura of disgust underlying all of it that was the clincher. Arthur Weasley was not just disappointed and angry with his sixth child—he was disgusted at his behavior. Severus wondered what he’d have to say about the incident that they were actually here to discuss.

He decided to continue. “When I saw him taking liberties, I went to the table to pull her away as promised, but as you can most likely surmise for yourselves, in the end, my assistance really was not needed, as Miss Granger saw fit to very kindly share her feelings on the matter. I simply contributed a mild stinging hex when young Mr. Weasley grabbed Miss Granger’s wrist as she attempted to leave.” He paused for a smug moment, but continued before Arthur and Molly could express their views on Ron attempting to manhandle Hermione.

“Now, on to the crux of the matter. Headmistress McGonagall was kind enough to invite the Hogsmeade guests of all of the 7th and 8th years, as well as apprentices, back to the castle for dinner that evening. Of course Ginevra invited both Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger was seated at the Head Table next to me when an unexpected owl post arrived and dropped an envelope in Miss Granger’s hands. It quickly became clear that it was her NEWT scores, fresh from the Ministry. I’m sure we are all familiar with Miss Granger’s considerable anxiety when it comes to her academic record—“ He was interrupted by a rude snort from Ron. “Mr. Weasley, I have been most generous this morning in leaving OUT several portions of our conversations yesterday. However, your general lack of gratitude, combined with your continued tendency to insult Miss Granger lead me to believe that perhaps I should share some of those anecdotes with your parents.”

Here, Severus stopped and became deathly still, a single eyebrow raised in Ronald’s direction. Ron swallowed hard, his eyes full of fear, but he remained silent. Severus simply could not stop himself from twisting the knife a bit.

“What, no ‘What the hell are you on about, Snape?’ No ‘I don’t answer to you, you greasy git?’ Oddly enough, it seems you’ve lost the bravado you had in such plentiful supply just yesterday. Hmm. Pity,” he threw out.

Ron blanched at this, and Molly and Arthur’s expressions grew impossibly darker. Snape decided to further the tale. He had, after all, a beautiful young witch warming his bed, and he was anxious to return to her.

“Back to the point at hand…Miss Granger was most anxious about her scores, and after a moment, she opened the envelope. Because owl post is not normal on a weekend evening, most of the eyes in the Great Hall were focused on her, which of course made her anxiety even worse. She opened the results and discovered in short order that she had scored an outstanding on every single NEWT she had taken—which was seven, by the way. Her relief and joy were such that in a moment of impetuosity, she threw her arms around the nearest person, which happened to be me.” At this point he turned his full glare upon Ron. “She was immediately embarrassed about her actions and was about to apologize, when Mr. Weasley here spoke up and voiced his thoughts. Please, Mr. Weasley, enlighten your parents as to what you said. And you will use the _exact_ wording that you used yesterday evening.”

Ron swallowed and gazed down at his lap.

“Mr. Weasley.” Minerva’s voice was harsh and unforgiving. Ron glanced up

Ron did not respond.  Minerva raised her voice and his head snapped up. “Mr. Weasley! Hermione had to hear you yell it out in front of every single person in the Great Hall, so you will tell your parents what you said right this instant, or so help me, by the gods I’ll floo straight to Kingsley Shacklebolt so fast you’ll have whiplash for a month!”

Her words hit the mark. Ron erupted, “I asked if she was fucking him, okay?!?”

Molly gasped and Severus sneered. “I believe the exact phrasing was, ‘Whoa, hold on, is she fucking him?’ And yes, every single person present in the Great Hall heard it, and Hermione was utterly humiliated. It was at that point that I took the liberty of escorting Mr. Weasley from the Hall and as deputy headmaster, banned him from the grounds for the remainder of this school year.” At this, he scraped his chair back and stood. “Molly, Arthur, I am not here simply as Hermione’s Master, although yes, as our bond dictates, that is a large part of it. I am here because, despite my often callous behavior, I do have a tremendous amount of respect for you both, and I hope you realize that. Overall, you have raised a brood of good men, and one _very_ impressive young woman,” he smirked. “And I believe I _did_ make it quite clear in the Three Broomsticks yesterday that my interest in the issue was not out of some misguided power trip, but rather concern for how the young man’s _actions_ might reflect on you. Now that you are aware of the situation, my part in it is over. I knew that Minerva would speak with you, but again, as Hermione’s master, not to mention a fellow Order member, it was incumbent upon me to do so as well. I do apologize for the early morning intrusion.” Severus nodded, but before he could take his leave, Minerva jumped in.

“Arthur, Molly,” she said with a sly grin, “do ask your _very impressive young woman_ to tell you about Severus’ duel with Hermione during her Defence NEWT practicum. I can assure you it’s a most entertaining tale.” She winked at Severus and then stood, as well, and held out an elbow for him to take before addressing the Weasley matriarch and patriarch once more. “Molly, Arthur, thank you for your time this morning.” She pursed her lips and then addressed the lastborn Weasley son a final time. “Ronald,” she bit off, her Scottish ire rolling off her in waves. Finally, she addressed her colleague. “Severus, would you do this old lady the favor of flooing back to my office with me?” She smiled at him affectionately, and he swallowed hard before nodding in the affirmative. What was she on about?

OoOoO

The headmistress and her potions master emerged from the floo into what was now Minerva’s office. She gestured toward the comfortable chairs sitting before her desk and turned toward her tea service. She cast a heating charm on the teapot and organized all of the tea things before bringing the tray over to Severus and sitting down in the chair next to him, placing the tray between them. She poured the tea as she gathered her thoughts, and finally, Severus couldn’t take it anymore.

“Minerva?” he asked, curiosity leaching into his voice. “Was there something you needed?”

She paused in her tea preparation and looked at him solemnly. “Yes, Severus. I need to speak to you about your relationship with Miss Granger.”

 

 

 


End file.
